


BadgerAngel's Gotham Omega Story

by SoupShue



Series: Smoke Universe from BadgerAngel [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 80,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoupShue/pseuds/SoupShue
Summary: Oswald Cobblepot is an Omega, but nobody knows that.....until someone does.Throw in the Fey and things get complicated. Very VERY complicated.This is a work that BadgerAngel, creator of Smoke (which was taken down, just as all of her works and her whole AO3 account were after one too many people stole them or took her  ideas and tweaked them JUST (barely) enough to be able to call them their own without credit....) wrote. Oswald was her favorite muse for a long while. This is ALL HERS. Every brilliant word of it. She shared so much of her passion and talent and creativity, so many of her ideas with me before she got too burned by people outright stealing her stuff and took her toys home.I found this on our shared Drive today and got sucked in anew for over three hours.It isn't finished. I won't finish it. I don't know where it was going or how many bows I'd have to tie off, and Gotham was NEVER my cuppa anyway.
Series: Smoke Universe from BadgerAngel [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631029
Kudos: 1





	1. Part 1

Ed showed more teeth in his smile than usual, he noted as he stepped past the taller man into his new apartment. It was nice, much nicer than the old one. The windows were wider, more light came in. It didn't smell of half-cleaned mold. It was very nice, in fact. But he wasn't here for a social call, well, not entirely. 

"So you said you'd made a new contact among the Feyrie Courts?" He said, turning to face Nygma. "That would be a coup indeed, Edward."

"Rather is," Ed replied, toying with a leather bag on the side table beside the door. "I'm very pleased with it, though they seem rather…insistent…on how they like to be paid. Refused cash, refused anything but jewels, and very specific ones. Pink diamonds, to be precise." Ed looked up at where Oswald stood in the middle of the room. "Hot for April, isn't it? You can take your coat off if you like." 

"I'm fine. Pink diamonds, that's odd --"

"Take it off, Omega." Ed's voice dropped, his dark brown eyes turning black. The command in his voice nearly made Oswald drop to his knees, the Alpha using tone, the Alpha's innate ability to command Omegas and cubs. Oswald clenched his fists, fighting the desire to obey.

"I'm really not that hot, Edward --" he began.

"Take it off. In fact, don't stop with the coat. Strip, Omega." The power rippled over Oswald, the command so strong he was surprised people on the street weren't doing the same thing he was, dropping silk and good wool to the hardwood floor as Edward approached.

"How did you know?" Oswald asked, trying to get his head clear, clear, even as his shaking hands unknotted his tie, began to unbutton his shirt. Had to try. Had to talk. Might slow this down. Might give him a chance to get out of earshot. Might.

"Last year. Last year, Zsasz was talking to one of his Omegas in front of you, used tone," Ed said, his voice more conversational again. "And you twitched at a command. It took me some time to put it together. How long have you been hiding yourself away, Omega? Suffering alone?"

"I don't suffer," Oswald snarled. "I'm fine. I quite enjoy my life, thank you so much," and he gasped when Ed's hand wrapped around his hair, pulled his head back to look up into those black eyes. 

"Omegas suffer if they don't have knots during their heats. How long have you been suffering, Omega?" A claw, that wasn't a nail, that was a claw, drew down the white skin of his neck. "How close are you to your heat?"

"Two weeks," he admitted. "Ed. Ed, we can talk about this --"

"Oh. Oh, we will. But I want to see you first. Finish." Fighting back shameful tears, Oswald obeyed, dropping his pants to the floor. His white flesh gleamed in the half light of the room, and Edward circled him, prowling, he realized as he closed his eyes. This wasn't happening. This was a bad, bad dream. A nightmare. Hot breath on the back of his neck, God no, please no, don't bite, don't, I don't want to be bonded, I don't want to be bred, I'm more than my biology you bastard…

"You are one of the most intelligent people I know," Edward said in his ear. "And I am one of the most intelligent people you know. Genetically, we should create highly intelligent pups."

"No. No, Ed, please, I'll -- I'll donate eggs or something, but no, you don't want this, Ed, you don't --"

"Yes. Yes, I think I do. Kneel, Omega bitch." The last word was said almost in a fond way, almost, not quite, an endearment, and the first tear slipped past Oswald's reserve. "Take your shoes and socks off. I want you nude from now on. As an Omega should be, in front of his Alpha."

"Ed, no. I can -- I'll pay you more than you've ever dreamed, Edward, just forget this," Oswald said, choking back sobs as he did what he was told. "Forget it, trust me, I'm a lousy lay --"

"You've never had sex as what you are," Edward said as he approached with the leather bag. "Only pretending to be a Beta. Of course sex hasn't been that exciting, that good. Now, you'll learn. You'll learn your place. And we'll still work together, of course, after you're bred properly. After you've learned." He reached into the bag and pulled out something that gleamed in his hands, a single finger on Oswald's chin pushing his head up again, oh Jesus no that was a fucking collar, and he tried to scrabble backwards.

"Hold still." A moment later, the collar clicked into place around his neck, and he shifted into his wolf shape. Damn it, he hated being in wolf shape, it was clumsy and -- he felt Ed's hand in the fur around his neck, tugging at the collar. Tugging at it, it covered his bond gland.

"Damn. I can't take it back off. That's odd." Edward looked down at the pure black wolf, his blue eyes shining with tears. "I'll have to talk with the Feyrie that sold it to me. But it did what I wanted. You're going to be very happy eventually. I promise. You just have to learn your place, Omega. That's all." The wolf opened his mouth, barked harsh and angrily at the man standing before him, a low growl coming from his throat. "No. Stop." Whining. "Follow me." Slowly, every step taken with obvious reluctance, the wolf followed the man to his bedroom, whined more when he saw the leash already attached to the footpost of the bed. Tears dripped down his muzzle as he heard the latch click into the collar at the back of his neck. 

"Now. This is what is going to happen," Edward said, squatting in front of him. "Until your heat, Omega, you will remain as a wolf. By that time, I hope you will have accepted your place. If not, then I won't take the collar off then. I'll just breed you as a wolf myself. It doesn't bother me, and it won't bother you. Not during heat." He smiled, his canines dropping fast. "You'll come around. Once your belly's full of my pups, you'll come around."

Oswald howled in indignation, in fury, as Edward walked out the bedroom door, closing it behind him. He ran to the edge of the leash, pulled, pulled as hard as he could, but it wouldn't give, and he couldn't pull the heavy oak bed he was tied to. Turned to look at the leash, whined when he realized it was chain, a cheap chain, yes, but still a chain, he couldn’t chew through it. 

How? How had this happened? He'd been on top of the fucking world ten minutes ago! Rich, powerful, respected, Beta for God's sake, passing for it, he had for years! Decades! And now…and now he was just another Omega bitch. Chained to an Alpha's bed. He turned, dug himself under the bed, to cry in earnest. He'd lost. He'd lost everything because of a twitch? Because he twitched once? 

He heard Ed come into the room, several times, but he didn't speak. He didn't speak, so Oswald didn't come out. He wanted him as a wolf? Fine. Then he'd den, and he'd fucking stay in it. Bastard, bastard, psychopathic crazy bastard. There had to be…had to be a way. Had to be a way out of this. He'd find it. He'd find it, and he'd cut Ed's lying crazy tongue out of his head, he would, he would. 

"Omega, come out. Time for your walk." He whined, tried to scrape back further from the side of the bed, and Ed did it again, used tone. "Omega, come out. Time for your walk." Slow. He had to obey. He had to. But nothing felt like he had to do it willingly. Maybe he could get away during the walk. Maybe he could run. Maybe --

The metal handled harness was reminiscent of what blind people used, and he realized within seconds of it being strapped over him that he'd never get away with this on. Too clumsy, too much bulk, he'd never be able to hide. Fuck. Ed really was smart. Fine. This was humiliating, this was horrible, this wasn't right. There were laws -- he laughed at himself, cruelly. Oh, that was rich, the gangster, the mobster, looking to law to save him. 

When they got back to the apartment after the walk, Ed chained him to the bed again, put down four wet pads, a mat, a bowl of food and water. The food smelled rank and disgusting, but he lapped up the water messily. This was -- God. 

So began his days as Edward's…dog. He wouldn't say the other, not even in his own head. He scratched a mark every morning under the bed, tried to keep his mind thinking in human terms. He'd heard that being in form too long could draw you under, draw you in until you thought more as a wolf than a man. No. He refused. 

He tried starving himself, refused to eat for the first five days, until at last Ed used tone to make him do so. Tried snapping, snarling, barking and howling incessantly, tried everything he could think of to make Ed give up, to make him let him go. Each time, the Alpha would use tone or physical force to make him submit, make him stop. 

He endured the heat. Endured. The. The. Rapes. Rape, it was rape, he didn't consent. He never consented. Not mentally. His body craved the…sex, the horrible, horrible feeling of violation, but not. Not his mind. He cringed from Ed's touch afterwards, hid harder and longer, even as he knew that at some point it had taken. He was indeed carrying Edward's child. Children. Pups. Christ. Wished for a choke chain instead of the collar, at least then he could perhaps strangle himself to death. 

He wanted to go home. He wanted to eat actual food again, to wear clothing again, to crawl between sinfully high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and feel -- he wanted to be himself again. And barring that. If he couldn't do that. Then he wanted to die. 

Full summer now, seventy marks under the bed. Humid, and he wasn't feeling well. Ed took him for the morning walk, brought him back to the bedroom, and looked at the clock. He unhooked the harness, leashed him to the bed, and all but ran out the front door, leaving the bedroom door open for once. Huh. Oswald waited an hour, just to be sure, watching the clock on the cable box slowly count the minutes by. Then he crawled out from under the bed, what was he going to do when his belly started to come in, where would he hide then…he was halfway down the hall before he realized, he was leashed, but Ed hadn't made sure the leash was attached to the bed. Halfway, then. Halfway, there had to be a way out of the apartment, had to be, oh God please. Please, Mother, if you're an angel now, please help me. 

In the living room, he could have cried from joy as he looked at the French doors to the balcony. The balcony was barely a story up. He could jump that. He knew he could, he knew he could, he just had to get the door open, that's all. Now. How to do that. The doorknob wasn't a knob, it was a handle. Was it locked? If it was locked, he was screwed….maybe not. Maybe not. He was smart. He could do this. He went to the door, stood up on his hind legs, whined from the pain in his right as he pawed at the handle, pawed, it moved, God please, moved all the way down but how would he -- he leaned over and took it between his jaws, pulled just a little, and it swung open. All the way open. He ran out the door, got up on his hind legs again to look over the railing. Jumped up, turned his head for the leash and took it between his teeth so it wouldn't catch on anything, and jumped down, landing in a bunch of poky shrubs underneath. Clambered to the ground. Okay. Okay, was he hurt? No.

Oswald ran as fast as he could from his prison, and he didn't look back.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sammie hummed along with her iPod as the Blazer splashed through the wet fall Tennessee roads. She didn't mind fall rain, it meant good hunting later, really. Her mind was on getting home, her brother was making chicken and noodles for dinner, as she turned the corner to her mountain. The black shape in the middle of the road, though, that was -- something wasn't right. Somebody hit a dog? Hell, somebody hit somebody shifted? Shit. She parked the Blazer on the side of the road, turned on the hazard lights, and got out of the truck, one hand on the gun on her hip. If it were a dog and it were in too bad a shape, she'd give it mercy. If it weren't, she'd take it home, see if they could help it.

Her breath caught in her throat as she got close enough to scent it, and she ran the last three feet. Pregnant Omega. What the hell was a pregnant Omega doing in the road? In the rain? She knelt down beside the black wolf, laid a hand on its head, stroked its ears back as it growled at her. "What happened to you, pretty? Are you okay? You sick? You hurt?" It growled again, lifting its head half heartedly, showing teeth for a split second before its head hit the pavement again. "Shit. Can you understand me?" It nodded weakly. "Do you need help?" It panted, nodded again. "Okay. Can you shift?" It whined, shook its head. "Okay. Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?" It whined, licked at her hand. "Alright. Give me half a second, I got to open the truck door first. Then we'll get you someplace warm, okay?"

She opened the back truck door, dug for the snowstorm blankets, laid one on the seat, laid one where she could get to it once she got the wolf in the truck, before going back to where it…yeah, it was just laying there in the road. God, poor Omega…"All right, pretty. You do me a favor okay, don't claw, don't bite, we'll get you in the warm in just ten minutes if you'll help. Can you help?" It was far too light for a pregnant Omega, she realized as she picked it up, cradled the wolf gently to her chest. It nuzzled into her neck, drew back as it scented her properly, whined, started to try to get away. "No, no, please, I won't hurt you, I won't, I'm trying to help you, little bit. It'll be okay." She laid it gently in the truck, covered it with the blanket, and stood there for half a second, trying to decide what to do. 

"You want me to call the cops?" It shook its head violently. "You running from somebody?" Nodded. "Okay then. Okay, pretty. Well, you probably just ran the safest place you sure hell could. Nobody comes up on Ross Mountain if'n we don't want'em to." Sammie's eyes glowed gold. "Nobody. You just sit still, pretty, let me take you home to my pack, we'll help you. Please. I know you're scared, okay, it's okay to be scared. We'll help you if we can, okay? We'll at least get you warm, get you some chicken soup, is that okay?" The strange wolf nodded again, barked once. Blue eyes blinked at her as it laid its head on its paws. "All right. I'm gonna drive kinda fast now, honey, gonna get you home, get you in the warm. You just relax. You're safe now." Sammie stepped backwards, closed the back door, swung up in the driver's seat and turned the music off as she turned the key, pulled down the CB mic from where it hung on the rearview mirror.

"Raksha to Den, Den you copy?" She said as she pulled back onto the wet road. "Raksha to Den, we've got a situation."

"Den to Raksha," her brother Nick answered. "Go for Den."

"Baloo, I need you to come open the gates. I'm coming Meat Loaf fast, copy?"

"Ten four. How far out are you?"

"Ten minutes, I'm down at the corner of James and Mill Creek Road. Get a fuckin' move on. Kaa! Kaa, you copy?"

"Yeah," came her sister's voice a second later. She could hear her brothers talking behind her. "Kaa copies, Raksha, what's the matter?"

"We've got…hell. Pregnant Omega, half starved, I don't know if it's hurt or not but it can't shift. Get your kit." She let go of the mic for a second, shouted over the sound of the truck and the rain. "That's my sister. She's an Omega, too. She's an RN. She'll help you, pretty, okay? She'll help you." 

"Raksha?" Her brother Randy spoke. "How bad?"

"Bad. Found it in the middle of the road, looks like it had just laid down to die. Not local, doesn't smell local. Tell me Baloo done left, Hathi, because I've got the pedal to the floor."

"Yeah, he did, but it's gonna be a race. Fuck I'm glad I decided to make chicken soup tonight."

"Ten four on that. Me, too. Fix a nice warm nest next to the wood stove for now, get it dry, we'll try and figure out why it can't shift ASAP after we make sure it ain't hurt, get it fed. Get the Ouija board out, the pointer. It understands me. Communicates some. Maybe it still remembers letters. Fuck." She took the corner on four wheels, but it was a close thing. "Fuck, fuckin' hydroplaning. I got to pay attention to drivin' now, Hathi, so I can get it home safe."

"Ten four. Den out."

"Raksha ten-nineteen, Raksha out." She hung the mic over the rearview again, paid attention to the road for the next six minutes. Turned up the driveway to see Baloo, her brother Nick, waiting beside the open gate, stopped for a second and rolled the window down. "Tell me you rode your bike or the ATV down."

"Bike."

"Thank fuck, I'll see you in a few." With that, she stepped on the gas again, rolled up the window with one hand and drove with the other. "Hang on back there, it might get a little bumpy. I ain't stopping and this is four miles of dirt road. Four miles from the blacktop to the den, two gates, four barbed wire fences, four former service wolves in the pack. Trust me, sugarplum, you could not be any fucking safer."

She pulled the truck past the front door and around to the back, where Randy stood at the bottom of the porch steps. She killed it, jumped out and opened the back door of the Blazer. "This is my brother," she said to the Omega. "His name's Randy, he's Beta. He's gonna take you inside while I get the groceries and put the truck up. Okay? My sister, I told you about my sister, her name's Amy, she's an RN. She's gonna take a look at you and make sure you're not hurt, make sure your pups aren't hurt." She backed off, let Randy pick the Omega up. She stood five feet ten, with broad, strong shoulders, and Randy dwarfed her by six inches and a hundred pounds, but he was the gentlest of them all. Carefully, he cradled the Omega to his chest, turned and went up the twelve steps to the porch, through the back screen door being held open by Amy, their blond, tiny, Omega sister, who followed him inside. "I want sitrep the minute I hit the door," Sammie shouted before beginning to haul boxes of groceries from the truck to the porch floor. Not many, they hadn't needed much. Couple gallons of milk, some rice, flour, yeast, pasta, spices, beer, cider, sodas. Most everything else they had already, canned, dried, frozen, but they'd needed milk and bread making stuff more than anything else. 

She turned the truck in the circle drive and drove down to the garage, parked, took a deep breath. Shit. Shit. Shit. It was scared of her, she knew, probably because it scented her as Alpha. So she needed to let it hang out with the others for a bit, let them take care of it. It'd be okay. She had it in the warm now, they'd figure out what was wrong, why it couldn’t shift. If it still knew letters, they could get its name, at least. Please Jesus and every saint there was. 

She hit the porch at a run on four feet, her long lean brown wolf barking to warn of her approach. She went to two as she came through the back door, shedding her leather jacket and tossing it at the hooks behind the door, missing like fuck but she didn't care. "Sitrep," she said as she walked through the kitchen into the living room, looked down at her brothers, her sister, kneeling next to the Omega.

"I think he's about four months along," Amy said, taking her stethoscope from her ears. "Can't tell how many yet. More than one." The Omega whined at that. "No physical trauma, though his right rear leg and hip are really tender. I don't know why, maybe an old trauma, maybe a birth defect." The Omega barked, and Amy turned. "Which one? Bark for the right one. Trauma?" He was silent. "Birth defect?" One bark. "Okay, thanks, that helps me a lot."

"Let's get him fed, then, if there's no physical trauma. You said male?"

"Yeah. Male Omega, guessing about thirty but I can't tell for sure, shifted."

"Yeah," Sammie said before going to kneel beside his head. "Hey. You 'member me, right?" Tail weakly flopped. "Okay, bud. It's like this. We're gonna feed you, we're gonna try and figure out a way for you to tell us what happened if you can, or why you can't shift back. Here's a thing, though; you are perfectly, perfectly safe here. I promise. My word. Nobody, nobody, hell, we've got shit against Fey for fuck's sake, nobody's getting to you here. Okay?" For lack of answer, he licked her hand. "Aww. Thanks, buddy," she said, drawing one finger down his muzzle. "Appreciate that. And here comes Randy with your soup, careful, I bet it's hot. Drink slow, okay? Try? I know you're hungry, but you don't want it to come back up." She stood back up, crooked a finger at her brothers. "Amy, you stay with him, you can judge how quick he can eat better than we can. Gonna palaver real quick, we'll catch you up in a few."

"Got it," Amy said, watching them head for Sammie's room. She sat Indian style next to the strange wolf, watching him eat. "I can't have them, you know," she said to make conversation. "Birth defect. You're not the only one." The wolf turned his head to look at her. "Tilted uterus. Can't carry to term," she shrugged. "I'm okay with it now. Go on, you're fine, eat. I'm just talking because you've been shifted so long. Been a while since you've had a conversation, I'll bet. You need to hear words." He sat down, bowl empty. He nosed it back to her hand and whined. "You want more? Okay. Let's let what you've eaten settle first, okay? Ten minutes. If you're still hungry in ten minutes, I'll get you more, and I'll put chicken in it this time. Sorry for just doing broth the first time, I wanted to make sure you could handle it." She reached up on the back of the old couch behind her, pulled a dry towel down. "Let's try to dry you off some more. Or would you like a bath?" He barked. "Bath?" Barked again. "Okay. Follow me."

While Amy went to run the wolf a bath, Sammie and her brothers were locking and loading. Shotguns. Pistols. Knives. Sammie strapped her dueling axes to her thighs. "I know he's running from someone," she said, checking to make sure the riot shotgun had its safety on before slinging it over her shoulder. "He didn't want me to call the cops. Laying out in the road to die, pretty much. Half starved, looks like he's been living four foot rough for a while. Pregnant, started to freak out when he realized I'm Alpha. I'll bet you a dollar to a thousand dollar bill he's been raped."

"So what. We've got a frog?" Nick joked, and Sammie's head snapped up.

"Yeah. Yeah, Raksha found a Mowgli, by God, and ain't no fuckin' Lungri the Lame coming to get him from her," she snarled. "I got enough Red fucking Flowers to blow their cunt ass to hell and back."

"Samantha. Calm down," Randy said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "You're letting your instincts override your brain, big sister. Your Alpha sees a pregnant, hurt Omega, and you're hellbent for leather. And I understand, and we are, too," he said, looking to Nick for confirmation, getting it with a nodding blond head. "But Sissy, you have to calm down. You'll scare him like this."

"Right," she said, breathing in her brother's scent, lemons and oranges. "Right, I got it. What are we going to do about bedding him down?"

"Depends on whether we can get him shifted back. I reckon if we can't, we can bed him down next to the woodstove, we can all flop in the living room for the night till we can figure out what the deal is. If we can get him shifted, he can sleep in Amy's bed for the night, Amy can sleep in mine, I'll sleep on the couch," Nick offered. 

"Sense, Nick, you're making sense, stop, the universe will explode," Randy said, smiling. 

"Fuck you," Nick said, grinning as he flipped his brother off. 

"Incest is best, baby," Randy simpered, and all three of them laughed. 

"Let's get the hardware where it'll do the most good," Sam said, and Nick opened the bedroom door, the siblings carrying out weapons and putting them on and under tables and chairs, in shelves, anywhere that was a flat space held a weapon once they were done. "Amy!" She called. "Amy, everything copacetic?"

They heard the bathroom door creak open. "Yeah," Amy called. "Just giving our guest a good bath. Jesus, he was filthy, poor guy." 

"Cool. He gets done…he gets done, tell him it's okay to…to go in the tub, I'll scrub it out before I go to bed tonight," Sammie decided. "I don’t want him going back outside tonight with wet fur, it's supposed to get cold. Come out here, give him some time to soak, we'll talk."

  
  
  
  
  


The blonde Omega, Amy, Amy, her name was Amy, left him alone in the huge clawfoot tub, in the fresh soapy hot water. He wished he was shifted back, wished he was human again, but this, just this, was wonderful. Where was he? He didn't even know what state he was in, though he knew it wasn't Jersey. Someplace a lot more country. He shook his head, tried to think, but it was hard, so hard to think two foot when he'd been four for so long. The Alpha. She'd made promises. They were going to try to find a way to talk, he needed to talk, needed to tell them why he couldn't shift. But this second, just this second, he was warm and his belly was mostly full with human food again, good, hot human food, and he was…he thought he was safe. He did. Safe. And the pups…four months along, that was too late to abort, wasn't it? Close to it? But he couldn't abort them in wolf shape anyway. He'd have to carry. God, no…he'd have to deliver. Four months along. He'd spent days and weeks and…seventy. Seventy marks under Ed's bed. Over two months as a chained Omega. He'd gone in the apartment a few weeks before his heat. So…he'd been running for what, two months? Two and a half? 

Could he trust the Alpha not to do the same? Not to just chain him to something and keep him? 

He'd thought he could trust Ed. After Mother. After Galavan. After everything. Of all people. The only way the betrayal would be worse would have been if it were Jim who'd had him chained to a bed. But it hadn't been, Jim would never do such a thing, never. 

Her eyes glowed gold. Not black. Gold. That was different. Her scent…she smelled of apples and rain right now. Ed scented of black anise before…before he'd…and rotten strawberries afterwards. Rotten. His wolf brain, his instincts, said yes. Said trust these wolves. Trust this Alpha. 

Well hell, it's not like she could hurt him any worse.

When the other Omega got him out of the bathtub at last, she toweled him down, brushed out his fur, and led him back into the living room. A plate of freshly cooked chopped chicken was waiting for him at the coffee table, a cushion pushed up to it for him to sit on while the others ate their own dinner. God, that was…he hated having to play charades, but he needed to know. He whined until they all looked at him, nosed at the cushion, at the plate, walked slowly to Amy, cocked his head to the side. Was it you? Your idea? He was trying to ask. 

"Not me," she said, shaking her head. "That was Sam and Randy." She pointed to the bigger, brown haired Beta, the one who'd carried him in the house, put him in mind of Gabe, God, Gabe, he hadn't thought of him in too long…and the Alpha, who was currently eating with one hand, writing with the other. He walked over to the Beta first, pawed at his leg, held out the paw. 

"Aww, Mowgli, it's all good, brother," the Beta, Randy, this one was Randy so the blond Beta was Nick, right, Randy said, and shook his paw. "We'll get you fixed up, man. No worries." Tentatively, slowly, tail down, he approached the Alpha next. Seeing her now in the light, she was whipcord lean, short brown hair, not even to her collar. Tan and tall. She was busy. Writing. He whined beside her, and she looked up, grinned.

"I like that," she said to her brother before turning her attention to him. "Hey. Do you mind if we call you Mowgli till we can find out your real name?"

Mowgli. That was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Like their nicknames. Familiar. He whined again, turned his head, making a question, I don't understand.

"Mowgli. Like from the Jungle Book. We…have an affinity, sort of, for the Jungle Book," the Alpha explained. "Like my handle, I'm Raksha. The She-Demon, who Shere Khan wouldn't even face." She pointed. "Amy's Kaa, because she can talk anybody into anything."

"Trussst in meeee, jusssst in meeee," Amy sang, and they all laughed.

"Randy's Hathi the Silent, the Elephant leader, because he's deep and he's big. Nick's Baloo, because he can make a joke out of anything. He came within half an inch of being King Louie."

"Bitch," Nick said, throwing a biscuit at her. She caught it, bit into it, offered him the rest. He gobbled it down. 

"So. You want to be our Mowgli? Just till we know your name?" He barked, nodded. It was much better than being called Omega, so much better than being dehumanized completely. And the Jungle Book…Mowgli was the Boy Wolf, wasn’t he? The man-cub? "Excellent. And you're welcome, Mowgli. You've been four foot a long time, we want you to remember what it is to be human. Then when we get the board out after dinner, you might remember your letters better." She held out her hand, the back to his muzzle, stroked gently. "Go eat, honey. You're very welcome to our den." Apples. Yes. She smelled of apples and honey. 

She waited until he moved out of the way before standing up and turning the stereo on, hooking up the family iPod. "What do we want for supper music, y'all?"

"I vote that little band from Texas," Nick said.

"That'll work," Amy said, and Randy nodded. A minute later, ZZ Top started playing from the speakers wired up to the walls, and she sat back down to finish her dinner, finish writing down her thoughts on Mowgli and what they needed to do. She looked up, noticed he was listening, she thought to the music. Good sign. Everything had been good signs, really, since they'd brought him in the house. There was still man inside of the fur, he hadn't gone feral. Good signs. Once everyone had eaten, and Mowgli had drank a bowl of warm milk for the pups, they brought out an old Ouija board and a stick, and Sammie let Randy explain.

"So you're still thinking, and that's good. Do you remember letters?" The wolf huffed. "No, we're not being bitchy here. We don't know how long you've been stuck this way. So we have to ask what seem like dumb questions. Let's start with this. Do you know where you are?"

He took the stick from the Beta's hand with his teeth, pointed to no.

"Awesome, you get it. Okay. You're in Tennessee, about fifteen miles from Crossville, Tennessee. We're pretty close to the Tennessee/Kentucky border. Okay. How long have you been stuck like this? And do you know how you got stuck?" Randy watched the stick move, called out to Sam, sitting with her notebook. "Four or five months. Sis, I think you were right. And how did you get stuck?" 

"Collar?" Sam said, looking up after writing down the letters Randy called. "Will you let me look at it, please?" He dropped the stick on the board, went to the Alpha's side. She was gentle as she moved his ruff out of the way. "Holy fucking shit. Holy fucking shit, you guys, make sure the rock salt shotguns are ready. This is Fey." She ran a finger over the engraved silver collar, pulled it back, sucking on it. "FUCK!" 

"What, Sis?"

"Fuckin' thing burned me!" He whined, turned to her, and she smiled around the finger in her mouth. "No, it ain't your fault, Mowgli. Now let me guess. You didn't put this on of y'own free will, did you?" He sank to the floor, covered his muzzle with his paws. "Mowgli. Mowgli, come back up here, please? Please, honey?" He looked up. "Did an Alpha put that on you?" He whined, nodded yes. "Okay. Okay, good job, well done for telling me, that's awesome that you could tell me. Now. Do you think he's chasing you? Tracking you?" Back to the board.

"I don't know," Randy called out as he spelled it. "Yes, Feyrie work. Forced. Tone."

"Bastard," Samantha hissed from her seat. "Fucking dirty ass rat bastard." She closed her eyes, shaking with rage for a few moments, a low growl emanating from her throat, from her chest, until she was able to speak again. "Okay. What's your name, honey? What's your real name?" Samantha asked, and waited for Randy to call out the letters.

"Mowgli's fine for now. Till a person again."

"Oh, honey," Samantha said, even as Amy shifted in her seat, honey gold wolf coming to nuzzle at him. "Honey, you're a person. Even four foot, you're a person. Give us some time to study on it, we've got some contacts, we'll get this thing off of you, Mowgli, we will, I'd pull it but I'm scared I'll hurt you, honey." He whined, long and low. "I know. I'm sorry, I'd -- it's not that it burned me, I don't care, I'll get burned to bone if that's what it takes, but what if there's backlash? I ain't never seen nothin' like this before, what if the spell's made to hurt you if we try? To kill you if we try?"

"I can call Eena," Nick offered, and Samantha nodded. "But who knows whether she's in our world or theirs?"

"Do it anyway. Leave a voicemail for her if she don't answer. Eena's our friend, she's half-Feyrie, all wolf," Samantha explained to him. "She'll help if she can, she hates chains of any kind." She chewed her pencil. "I can call on Smith…"

"No, Sissy," Randy said, and Nick shook his head alongside, even as he held the phone to his ear. "Who knows what he'll ask? No."

"He was chained once," Samantha said lowly. "He wouldn't want to see nobody else chained, neither."

"No. Sissy. No."

"I don't know if she's under the Hill or if she just ain't answerin'," Nick said as he put his phone away, "but Eena didn't answer. Left a message."

"Damn. Mowgli, we will find a way. Hell." Samantha chewed her pencil again. "Is there, um, is there anyone you want us to call for you? Is there anyone you know who could get that off?" The Ross Pack watched as he took the stick again, started pointing.

"I don’t know anyone who could get it off," Randy spelled out. "And don't want anyone to know I'm stuck this way."

"Not even your family, honey? Ain't you got no kin?"

"Dead."

"Aww, Hell. Well, shit. Are you from 'round here? You don't smell local, you don't look local…"

"No. East Coast. Jersey."

"Holy shit, how'd you get all the way on this side of the Smokies? Jesus. Amy, did you check his paws good?"

"Yes, Sam," Amy said, having shifted back to two foot form but still sitting beside him, scratching his head. "His paws are worn, but not too bad."

"Hell. Okay." She chewed her pencil again. "Mowgli, do you want to stay here a while? We ain't asked you that. That ain't fair, you got rights. Do you want to stay, or --" He nodded madly, at least here they were treating him like a person, please, please yes, please… "Okay, darlin', okay, we get it," Samantha laughed. "Let me put it to the Pack; Ross Pack, Mowgli needs sanctuary, needs hunting rights, what say you?"

"We be of one blood, you and I," Nick said without hesitation, shifting to touch noses with the black wolf, gray to black.

"We be of one blood, you and I," said Randy, reaching out to scruff Mowgli's neck.

"We be of one blood, you and I," Amy said, leaning her forehead to his, blue eyes to blue eyes.

"We be of one blood, you and I," said Samantha before she shifted, a long, lean light brown wolf, the fur on her back discolored, approaching him slowly, sniffing at him, before licking his muzzle. Shifting back beside him, she was kneeling, barely out of reach. "You're welcome to stay with us as long as you like. We'll figure it out. We're country, Mowgli, we ain't stupid by a long shot. Smarter than city folks about the Feyrie, usually, 'cause we're who live with them."

"Usually. But that's a nasty piece of work, Sam," Randy said.

"I know. But we got Eena. And if we don't hear back from her in a week, I'm calling Smith, Randy. Ain't nobody needs to be locked up like that." Randy sighed, but nodded his agreement.

"No, I agree with that. Seven days. If we don't hear from Eena in seven days, then you call him. But don't go trading more than a few days, Sam, I know you feel for him, but he's not Pack."

"No, I know that," she answered. "I won't, not more than a week, anyway." She stood easily, gracefully. "Leave the board and the stick out so he can talk to us more than yes or no. Damn I wish I had a sandbox, damn it, damn it, if you can recognize letters you might still be able to make them, damn it. Okay. What else do you need to know, darlin'?"

"Date," he spelled out.

"It's September the twenty-first. Fall equinox. Do you know what day it was when --"

"April 13. 70 days chained. Escaped, got lucky." He shivered. He had gotten lucky. Sam pulled her phone out, started counting days.

"So you've been on the road what, about three months. Or at least free, sort of, for about three months. I guess you coulda walked from the Coast here in three months, I don't know…" she sighed. "Hell. I hate leavin' you like this. I truly, really do." He picked the stick up again, and Randy's voice choked as he spelled it out.

"At least you're trying, Alpha. At least you're all trying. Thank you. So much."

"Oh, darlin'," Samantha said, choking up herself. "I'm gonna do more than try, darlin', we're gonna find a way, my word on it. My fuckin' word."

Sammie started going through the books they had on the tall bookshelves that lined the living room, looking through everything they had on Feyries to try to find an answer. The brothers pulled out a chess board, and he dropped his head on his paws, wishing he could play. He loved chess. Amy sat next to him on the couch (they said he was more than welcome to sit on any of the furniture, he was a human damn being, Sam said, they trusted he wouldn't tear it up) and knit something in a circle, while music played and the wind howled. Nick moved his rook in a way that left his queen exposed and he must have made some sort of sound, because all the people looked at him.

"What is it, Mowgli? Jesus fuck, never mind, this ain't Lassie, Christ," Nick said, falling back on the floor while everyone else laughed. "I'm sorry, dude." He got up, jumped down to the floor and licked Nick's face before turning to the chess board. He wasn't…he didn't think he could…

"Oh, hell no, no cheating, little brother," Randy said before he could try to pick up the pieces. "Nick's shit at chess, that's true, and yes I saw what he did, and I'll play you in a minute, after I stomp his ass. We'll figure it out if you want to play, we'll figure out a way." His tail thumped the floor rapidly as Samantha laughed behind him.

"Oh hell fuckin' yes," she said. "You play all you want, darlin', chess, checkers, whatever, it makes your human brain move. What about the music, do you like it? Do you want somethin' different?"

Back to the board and pointer. "Music's fine. Interesting. Not usual 4 me."

"Cool, because we like music around here," she said as she rose to put her book away, pulled down another. "Y'all play. We'll figure somethin' out to where you can move pieces." Ten minutes later, when Nick overturned his king, they did. Not the pointer, the pointer was too large, but another pencil. He could tap the piece he wanted to move and the square he wanted it moved to, and Nick would move it for him. 

At ten o'clock, he and Randy weren't deadlocked exactly, but they were even when it came to pieces. Samantha put her book away and yawned. "Y'all, it's gettin' late, we got work to do tomorrow," she said. "Y'all can finish your game tomorrow night, Randy, Mowgli. Take a picture so if the pieces get bumped you can reset." Randy nodded, took out his phone and did so as Nick got up off the floor and Amy put her knitting in its box beside the couch. "Mowgli, where do you want to sleep, honey? On the couch? You want us to make you a pallet next to the wood stove?"

"He can sleep with me if he wants," Amy said, and the brothers nodded.

"Or us, I guess," Randy said.

He couldn't decide. Randy was huge, reminded him of Gabe, Amy was Omega like him, Nick was funny. Sam smelled like apples and honey, though. Had the best scent. He went to her feet and whined, looking up at her, saw her face turn to shock.

"Me? You want to sleep with me? Are you sure, Mowgli?" He nodded, laid down at her feet and looked up with big eyes. "Oh my God, those eyes, how anybody ever tells you no is beyond me. Okay, if I won't squish you, okay, my bed's kind of small. Come on." She led him to a bedroom, opened the door and turned on the light. "You be a gentleman while I get my pjs on, okay?" He jumped up on the twin bed (how did such a big woman fit on such a small bed? Why?) and turned around, facing the wall. "Thank you. I'll get in bed when I'm ready." He heard clothing rustling, heard her sigh. Heard her walking across the floor, and then she was lifting the covers, climbing in the bed. "You want covered up?" He did, it was chilly in here, he dove under the heavy quilts and flannel sheets. "Watch your claws, darlin'. And go to sleep, five o'clock comes early."

He woke once in the night, Sam's arms wrapped around his neck, her voice in his ear. "It's okay, Mowgli, it's okay, you're safe now. You're safe, you ain't trapped or whatever no more. They ain't got you no more, honey, you're on the mountain, you're safe." He licked her face and she laughed. "Okay. You okay now, darlin'?" He licked her again. "Okay. Go back to sleep."

When her alarm went off, she groaned, but sat up, shivering as the chilly air hit her. "Stay in bed if you want, Mowgli, I gotta build the fire up," she said as she turned the light on. "Same thing as last night, be a gentleman, please." She got up, and he heard hangers rustling, drawers opening. Clothing rustling, and she sat down on the side of the bed, standing up a few minutes later, her boots hitting the floor. "I'm gonna leave the door open, you stay in bed long as you want."

He didn't want. Well, he did, but he needed…he got out of bed and followed her out to the living room, trotting past her to the back door and scratching at it, whining. "Just a second, Mowgli, I'll show you where to go, wait," she said, following him. She opened the back door and let him out on the porch. "Follow me," she said, and shifted into the light brown wolf again, nosing at him for a second before trotting down the porch steps, waiting for him at the bottom, and leading him out of the yard to the treeline, just beyond it, and laid down, covering her eyes with her paws. He took the hint, moved away a hundred yards or so.

When he came back, he pawed at her paw, licked her muzzle, and she barked, leading him back to the porch and shifting to two feet as she stepped on the top step. "Treeline, not the yard; Randy'll bitch, because he has to mow it," she said, and opened the back door. "I'll get you something to eat in a minute, sweetheart, I gotta build the fire up now." 

She made coffee first, and while it brewed (god it smelled so good, he missed coffee and tea) she fried some sausage and warmed a pan of milk for him, bringing it to the table as they'd done the night before. "That's just a snack, sweetie, it's Amy's turn to make breakfast proper, and I'm going to get her up in…ten minutes." She poured herself a cup of coffee, added cream, and he heard the back door open, the screen door close. He ate, then jumped up on the couch to wait for whatever came next. Because whatever it was, it was likely to be a thousand times better than hiding in the rain, than trying to scrape cheese from a burger wrapper, than being on the leash. He was warm. He wasn't full, exactly, but not hungry. They were treating him like a person. Good people. He thought he'd forgotten what good people were.

But hadn't he thought Ed was a good person once? After…after Mother? After he was shot? He whined to himself. No. No, Ed had taken his grief and twisted it, even then, saying losing Mother was a good thing. And he'd…he'd been so wrapped in his need for vengeance, his grief, he'd bought it for a while. 

The screen door slammed, bringing him back out of his reverie, and he raised his head. Samantha moved through the living room to the hallway, tapping on doors, waking everyone else. "Come on, y'all, we got things to do today. We got wood to cut and split and stack, fellas, Amy, you're supposed to start the pantry today and we need bread made. Come on." She turned to face him on the couch. "You. I gotta come up with a job for you, Mowgli. I'll study on it."

"A job for him? He's pregnant, Sam," Nick said behind her. "Mornin', Mowgli. See how she is? Fuckin' slave driver. Regular what's his face, from the Cabin book thing."

"Legree," Amy said as she slipped past. "I think it's Simon Legree."

"It's something like that," Samantha nodded. "And yep, I am. I'm a horrible person who don't deserve to live, 'cause I want us all to be warm and full bellied come January." Her eyes rolled. "Amy, can he have coffee?" He couldn't help barking and nodding, oh God please.

"I think?" Amy said as she started moving around the kitchen. "I'm not sure."

"Come on, Mowgli. Cream?" He nodded, panting. "Sugar?" Shook his head. "Just a second." She fixed a cup like hers, poured it into a bowl, and set it on the coffee table. "Don't burn your tongue, honey." She fixed herself another cup and sat in her chair again, and he noticed for the first time that it lined up perfectly with the front and side doors to the living room, that she had a direct line of sight either way. 

Breakfast was oatmeal for everyone else, he got scrambled eggs after Sam told Amy she'd given him sausage earlier. Which was fine by him, he hated oatmeal, it was too much like cream of wheat and he hated that with a passion. Had it too often as a boy. After breakfast, Sam went in her room for a few minutes, came back out and closed the door. "Okay. Mowgli, how you feelin', sugar? You want to come help us today, or do you want to stay here? I'm sorry, it's just we all gotta pull our weight, winter…is coming," she laughed.

He got up and got the pointer. "I can help."

"Cool. I think I've got something for you to do, if you don't mind." She turned to the Betas. "We'll bring one of the plastic totes, he can gather kindling. We ain't never got enough kindling, and that's easy enough, shouldn't hurt him."

"Fair enough," Randy said. "You're a city wolf, right?" He nodded. "You know what kindling is, exactly?" He had to shake his head. "That's cool, we'll teach you. And it's a good skill to have, too, to know kindling and how to build a fire. Bet you can't do that when you're two foot, either." He had to shake his head again. Not without lighter fluid. Or alcohol. 

"But here's the thing; do you mind doing that, or do you want I should study on it more, try to come up with a different job?" Sam asked. "We're cuttin' wood this morning, splitting and stacking this afternoon. We need another two cords to get through winter, and about three weeks to get it done."

"Don't mind."

"Good deal. Let's go hook up the trailer then, boys. Mowgli, we'll come get you when we're ready." Thirty minutes later, they rode up the dirt road in the truck from the night before, up the mountain, higher, higher still, until they came to a level place where trees had different colored ribbons tied around them. They stopped, everyone getting out, Sam and Randy setting half a flat of bottled water on the end of the trailer, filled a small bucket with a gallon of the same and set it on the ground for him while Nick pulled a large purple plastic box out of the back of the truck and set it on the ground, too.

"Come on, Mowgli, I'll get you started," Nick said, walking into the woods. "Here," he picked up a small stick. "This is kindling, this is what we use to start fires. What we need you to do is gather this up and put it in the box, so that we have dry kindling to build the fire up with over the winter." Well that was easy enough. "Make sure it's small enough it fits in your mouth, watch for snakes, and I reckon if you get tired Sam won't bitch if you take a break."

"Nope," Sam said as she walked up, a chainsaw over her shoulder. "And that's just one size, honey, it can be as big as…huh. Big around as the pointer stick back home, okay? Not much bigger than that, not around. I know it don't seem like a big job, but you try building a fire up in the morning without any kindlin', it ain't fun."

"Sure hell ain't. Bigger deal than you think, dude. Okay. You got an idea of what we want you to do?" He nodded. "Cool. Take your time, take breaks if you need to, and come get one of us if you need the box moved or if you need help for something," Nick said. "We're gonna be right over there. Stay out of where we're at, we don't want a tree to drop on you."

They worked hard, he noted. Only cutting the trees with the red markers, at least for now, and she worked just as hard, if not harder, than her brothers, never taking off the long sleeved flannel she wore over her tee shirt, though her brothers did after a while. He had the box half full by the time they took their first break of the morning, coming back to the truck to pull out a box of peanut butter crackers, making sure he got some, feeding him by hand rather than just putting it on the ground. "Fuck me, you work, bro," Randy said, looking at what he'd done already. "Good job. Looks good, too, you've got the idea." 

"See? I have good ideas," Sam said to her brothers as she squatted down, held out more peanut butter crackers to him. "You get the box full, Mowgli, you just hunker down a while, or go play, chase squirrels or whatever, but come back when we holler for you. And if you get tired, you rest. Please."

"And fuck's sake, watch for snakes," Nick added. 

He'd had the box full for quite a while by the time they backed the trailer up to load it with the cut wood. "We'll have lunch after we load up," Randy told him. "Then we'll go back to the house, and you can do whatever, I think Sammie's done making you earn your keep today."

"Sure am. You did good, bud. Shouldn't take too long, and then y'all can get back to your chess game sometime this afternoon," she agreed, taking a long drink of water, dripping with sweat.

"Sissy, take your flannel off before you have heatstroke," Nick said, and she shook her head. 

"Got company," she said, drinking again. 

"Shit. Vanity, vanity, the whole damn world is vanity," Nick misquoted. 

"All is vanity, saith the preacher, if you're gonna quote, Nick, quote right." She got up. "We won't be long, Mowgli." 

"Hell. She's gonna fuckin' faint," Nick muttered. "Well, pride goes before the fall, I know I've got that right!" he shouted as he caught up to his sister, and argued with her while they walked. He couldn't hear them anymore, but he could tell. 

"Those two," Randy said, coming up from behind him. "He means well, but he's arguin' with a brick damn wall. Sammie gets her head set to somethin', you may as well just accept it's gonna happen, son. You remember that, Mowgli. She promised we're gonna get you turned back two foot, by God, Samantha Jane's gonna see to it." Big hand on his head, ruffling fur. "Might want to remember that after you turn back two foot, too. She wants holt of whoever did this to you, buddy. She wants holt of them baaad," he drew out the word. "And she's made out of mean when it comes to Alphas misusing their gifts, their power. Don't you worry. She'll take you home and kill the sumbitch and won't nobody ever find the body." He whined, no. No, Sam didn't need anywhere near Edward, Edward was crazy, and he was smart. He didn't want to see her dead on the street, no. "Nah, don't worry about it, we'll worry about it once we get you fixed up." Ruffling fur again, and then Randy was off to catch up with his siblings as they hauled cut logs and threw them into the trailer. 

"Mowgli, you want another bath?" Sam asked as they drove down the mountain again. "Reckon you're hot an' sweaty, Christ knows we all are." He nodded. " 'Kay, Nick, after we unload the trailer, that's on you today."

"I don't have to help stack?"

"Not till after Mowgli's had another bath. I don't…huh. Call Eena again, too. And I don't know whether flea treatment might hurt the babies…"

"Baths every day'll help," Randy said from beside her.

"Yeah, still yet, though. And Nick, be sure to look for ticks."

"I will, I'll get the metal combs out. I'll be careful and gentle, but it might take a while."

"Yes, Nick, I'm well aware you're gonna milk it so you don't have to help stack," she said, a smile on her face. "Tomorrow you will, though, 'cause tomorrow's Randy's turn."

"Me? Milk a chore? I have no idea what you're talkin' about, Sam, I'm hurt," he deadpanned, and the other two laughed. "Seriously, though, how much you think we got today, Sam?"

"Oh, Lord. Maybe a quarter cord. Maybe. But that's good work this morning, guys, and if we can keep it up the next couple weeks, we can get the plastic up, get the pipes wrapped, and just sit back and enjoy October," she said. 

"We gotta stack the dry wood on the porch yet, too," Randy said as they pulled to the concrete building down the hill from the house. 

"Yeah, we'll get on that pretty soon. Not today, though." She turned around in the passenger seat. "You okay back there, Mowgli? You okay with helpin' out again tomorrow, you were a big help today. That's at least three days worth of kindling, that helps, bud." He barked, nodding. "Cool. Get on out and get a bath, bud, take the rest of the day easy."

He did exactly that, laying on the floor by the woodstove after his bath and letting Nick comb his fur out with alcohol soaked metal combs, enjoying the sensations, the smells as Amy baked bread and made dinner. The other two came in a few hours later, both scenting of sweat and sawdust. Sam's shirt was draped over her shoulders rather than properly on over her tank top as they both dropped an armload of wood in the box beside the stove. "Y'all have a good afternoon?" Sam asked, pausing on her way to her room.

"Yep," Nick answered, switching combs again. "I'd have been back out, but Jesus, Sis, he was covered. Check y'covers."

"Did already, did that this morning when I made the bed. I'll do it again in a minute, though. Did you call Eena again?"

"Yep, left another voicemail," Nick said. Sam sighed. 

"Hell. Okay, then." 

  
  


After dinner, he and Randy went back to the chess game as Sam and Amy went out on the side porch, Sam with a guitar and Amy with…was that a violin? No, he realized as the music began to ring out over the dusky mountain. Well, it was, but she wasn't playing it as he was used to. Though it did have its own beauty. Soon enough the Betas were both singing along, feet tapping to the songs Sam and Amy were playing. "Hush my baby, hush. This ain't love it's just a crush," the guitar playing menacing notes that would not have sounded out of place in a stalker movie soundtrack. 

"This a Pine Box Boys night, Sis, or are you takin' requests?" Nick shouted through the screen door after the song was over. 

"Well, I was thinkin' about Arkansas Killin' Time next, but what do you want, honey?" she shouted back.

"Play my song."

"You got it," she said as her guitar began to riff faster, voices raised in the night. He realized this wasn't bad. No, it wasn't the symphony and dinner certainly hadn't been beef bourguignon, but this wasn’t bad. Still, he hoped to be back to normal soon. Please soon. He tried to think about what he could do to repay their hospitality, their kindness, when he was back to normal, tried to think about what he needed to do when he was. Money, of course. He could drown them in it, if…oh, no. If they'd take it. They seemed very proud. Hmm. He would have to think about that. 

The next day and the day after that were much the same as the first. He watched them. Watched them laugh together, work together, play together. Watched them fight the fourth night, as Sam kept saying she could call someone named Smith and Randy kept telling her no. No, she didn't need to, not yet, she'd agreed to a week. "He's gonna keep you someday!" Randy shouted on the porch, the two having apparently forgotten the side door was open. "Sissy, he's gonna keep you, and I can't, I can't lose you, we can't lose you, Alpha, we need you!"

"He can't keep me, he wouldn't. He's better than you think, Randy, don't treat it like that. He don't treat me like a whore --"

"Because you're not a whore, Samantha Jane, you're not. But he likes you a little too well for my likin', and you know, I like Mowgli, I like him real well so far, but he ain't Pack, Sissy. He ain't. You said a week, it's been four days."

"And we ain't heard shit from Eena. Fine. Three more days, but I mean it, I ain't waitin' one day after." Footsteps crossing the porch outside. "Hey. Hey. He ain't gonna keep me. His wife's out there somewhere, he finds me amusin' is all. And at least somebody don't mind me in their furs, buddy. Hell, I'm human, I got needs, Randy."

"You're fuckin' beautiful, Sam, you let those damn scars fuck with you too much," he heard Randy reply. 

"You're my brother, and I love you, but I know what the ones look like. You ain't seen'em," she said. "You ain't never gonna. Those ones are bad. After…after Doug, after Mike, after what they did, they said? Hell. Bein' with somebody that don't mind firelight or starlight comes real nice." 

"You're right, I haven't seen those," Randy said after a minute. "But Sis…we just worry, is all. The King's already touched you. You sleeping with Smith, taking his silver, asking him favors, it's pushing the limits, don't you think?"

"Sleeping with Smith got Amy back for us," Sam said. "Paid the taxes on the mountain last year. Paid for the roof for the house the year before that. Don't. He's good to me, he's gentle with me, he's generous."

"Are you in love with him?" She laughed at her brother.

"Oh, no. I done said, he's a married man. He'll find his wife someday. No, I know better than to fall in love with a married man. Fuck, I know better than to fall in love, Randy. I got six names on the box I keep my heart in, and every time I think about takin' it back out, those six names remind me not to." The two were quiet a long time before Randy spoke again.

"I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry, Sam."

"I know. I shouldn't have yelled either. I'm sorry, too."

"I know you think you know what you're doing. I know you've studied on them, on him. And you know him a hell of a lot better than we do. But it worries us. Please don't call on him unless we have to," Randy said at last.

"I know you're just tryin' to look out for me," she said after a minute. "And I appreciate that, I do. But you don't know how much it hurts me, how much it eats at me, to have…to know that somewhere out there, there's a dirty ass poor white trash excuse for an Alpha who would do such a thing to an Omega. Omegas are supposed to be treasured, exalted, cared for and cuddled. Not fuckin' forced and toned into slavery, and sure hell not forced into shape and…and I reckon raped."

"Jesus."

"I know. I see him and I see Amy, Randy. I see Amy in that fuckin' video, and I see red. I want him free. I want to know his name. And I want to go hunt down the Alpha that did that to him. I want to hunt him down and rip his throat out and chop him into chum, just like I did Kevin. 'Cause that bastard makes me ashamed to call myself an Alpha."

She was…she was willing to trade her body to someone he assumed was a Feyrie for the knowledge of how to get him back to normal? Was she stupid? Who did that for someone they barely knew? Didn't really know? He was on his feet before he could think, out the door and barking furiously at her, no, no, you don't do that, you can't do that…

"Whoa, whoa, Mowgli, Jesus," Randy said, kneeling down as Sam stood, shocked at his outburst. "Whoa. You okay?" He shook his head frantically. "Come on, come tell me. Sam, you might wanna stay out here, he was barkin' --"

"At me," she said. "I noticed. Yeah." In a blink, she was shifted, jumped off the porch and ran out of the light, disappearing into the dark.

"Shit. The fuck, Mowgli, you done hurt her feelings," Randy sighed. "Damn it. Come tell me why you got upset, dude." The board. The pointer.

"Heard you. No. She can't."

Randy nodded. "We agree with you, man. Look, we all want you normal, okay, but she's been skatin' the line with the Good People the last couple years. We really are scared that one day she's gonna go with Smith and just not come back."

"If I get two foot again, I can fix the money part. Promise."

"Hell. It ain't just the money." Randy sighed. "Sam -- we're all former service. Sammie got…she got real fucked up overseas. Real fucked up. And she feels…she's…she's scarred up, really badly, she was already scarred up from some other stuff but now it's worse. Had a couple guys say some real nasty things about her when they saw it. So she goes and runs and hunts for Smith, and she sleeps with him, when she gets too…too lonely."

"Pretty."

"She is, you're right. Her scars are easy hid. And she's doin' everything she can to make sure you don't see'em." Randy scratched behind his ears. "She said she'd wait the full week. I'm sure hell hopin' we hear from Eena first. If she does have to, though, Mowgli you gotta respect her choice. We've had to."

"No."

"Yes, Mowgli. Sam's a big girl, and so far she's always come back. So far. And if Eena don't show up, he's our only other option. And I promise, he'll know what to do about that damn piece of shit around your neck. He will." Randy stood up. "Don't worry. We'll handle it, we've got this. I'm gonna go talk to her, you want to come with?"

Two wolves trotted down the porch steps, one brown, one black, and down to the gate of the picket fence that ran around the house before the brown wolf sounded out a howl. Where are you, come home, all is well. He was answered by another from the woods to the east. I'm fine, give me some time, the answer said. 

A third howl, different, rose. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, come home. Met with silence.

He stayed in the living room that night, waiting for her, but her boots didn't hit the porch until just before dawn. She came into the kitchen, washed her hands, and started breakfast. It was her turn. He came to the doorway and whined until she sighed and looked down, then ducked his head. Sorry. So sorry.

"It's okay," she said. "I know what it seems like. Seems like I'm a Feyrie's whore." She shrugged. "Here's the thing, Mowgli. I know why I've done what I've done. Alpha serves. Alpha serves the Pack, and everything I've done, everything, I've done for the good of the Pack. First time was six months, but Amy Beth came home. Every other time may have been for silver, but it wasn't for me. It was for the Pack, for a roof for the house, for tax money, for fixing the truck, whatever. It was for the Pack." She came over and squatted down to look at him. "Alpha, true Alpha, lives and dies for the Pack. First in battle, first to sacrifice, first to bleed, first to die. Last to eat, last to sleep, last to get tended. I'm not sayin' you were wrong to think I whored myself out. I did. But understand why."

Gently, he took her hand between his teeth and led her to the board.

"Not for me. I'm not your Pack."

"Oh, sugar, that don't matter," she said softly. "You're a person who needs my help, and I know I can help you. I know he can help you."

"Not worth it."

"Sure you are," she said, leaning down. "You are. And we don't know that's what's gonna happen, I told Randy I'd wait, and I will. Don't go borrowin' trouble, sugar. Now come on, let's get breakfast started. Gonna finish up the last of this cord this morning, and tomorrow's Saturday, we take weekends off." She winked. "Might just cut off early."

"Not mad."

"What…no, I'm not mad at you. I promise, Mowgli, I ain't mad. Come on now."

  
  


When they came back to the house at noon, Amy came running off the porch. "Eena called!" She shouted, jumping up on the driver's side. "She and Kenny will be here tonight around eight. I tried to describe the collar to her, she says she knows what it is."

"Good fuckin' deal!" Nick shouted. "Good deal, we'll get him loose and have a party, Sammie, we can have a party, can't we? Hootenanny, Sammie, please?"

"Lord God. You'd have a party for the sun going down if I let you," she laughed. "You can get drunk if you want, and Kenny and Eena coming means we'll have music, anyway. I don't know that it'll be a party, Mowgli might want to rest after all of this. But right now, we've got wood to split and stack. Amy, you take anything out for dinner yet?"

"Ribeye."

"Oh, good. You make sure to get out extra? You know how Eena and Kenny eat."

"Yep. Three bags." He saw Sam wince. "Like you said, the way they eat…"

"No, I know. Deer season's comin', I'll make it up then," she said, trying to smile. "Randy, you want to get some taters out, get the grill going later?"

"Sounds like a plan. Let's get the work done."

The black truck didn't need anyone to open the gates. Eena had the combinations to the locks. So when the sound of a truck coming up the driveway sounded, it startled him, and he, already on edge with hope, jumped to his feet and ran off the porch, barking and howling as the truck pulled up in front of the house and parked. The passenger door opened, and an angel stepped out. 

She was tiny, probably less than five feet tall, though he couldn't be sure, wearing a yellow dress. Her hair, her skin, was white. White as snow, and he stopped barking as she shifted into a pure white wolf and approached him, circling as he watched her. Came close, backed off again, came close, sniffing. She barked once, her voice ethereal, before shifting back. "Come here. I cannot help you if I cannot see the collar, friend," she said, kneeling in front of him. "You would not hurt me. You would not. No. Not women. Never women. Well….never women who have not hurt you." She hummed as her fingers found the silver, tugged at it. "Mmm. Nasty. Lyonesse work. Well. Let us go inside before Samantha gets jealous. You do not wish, even here, where no one will see, you do not want to shift back in the open." She stood, holding her hand out to a much taller man who had come up in the dark behind her. "My mate, Kenneth. This is the lost wolf Samantha found."

"Mowgli," Sam called from the porch. "We been callin' him Mowgli."

"A good name, a proper name, though not his own," Kenneth said as he bent down. "Well met, Mowgli." Kenneth's scent was flowers of some sort, like Eena's. He was pale, though not as pale as she, and like her, his ears were just slightly pointed. Eena was already up the steps and in Samantha's arms, being hugged, and he followed Kenneth up the steps to the porch, watched Sam shake hands with him, share half a hug. 

"I sensed no spell that might hurt him," Eena announced after she had hugged everyone. "That was your concern, Amy said."

"Yep. What is it?"

"A nasty piece of work, most likely sold under false pretenses; no one with any knowledge would have used it on an unbonded. Made more for…for bondmates that do not trust their bonded, for those who would break the pride of their bondmates, too. And sexual gratification; it is of the Court of the Lion, after all, and we all here know how debauched that Court is."

"Oh, hell," Sammie said. "Tracking?"

"None that I sensed. No. I think perhaps…perhaps whoever placed this on him asked only the most superficial of questions, and did not know that while Feyries rarely lie, we often dance round the truth. Kenneth, your thoughts?"

"I concur," the tall part-Feyrie said. "My sorrow we were so long in answering the summons, this is emergency indeed. The fault was mine."

"He was ill, and had to return to the Hill for a few days. Come, though. Let us gather the implements. Samantha, your strength will be needed. Clothing, something, I doubt he is dressed beneath the fur." 

A few minutes later, Sam knelt in front of him as Eena and Kenneth stood just inside the door, well away from the cast iron poker and shovel that Randy and Nick held to either side of him. "Remember," Eena called, "no matter what, do not let go, Samantha. You are well able to break this chain." Sam nodded, and looked him in the eyes, laid her forehead on his for a brief moment.

"Gonna get you loose now, Mowgli. I promised, and I keep my word." She nodded to her brothers, and they touched the metal implements to the collar. It hissed, audibly, and began to blacken. Sam grabbed both sides, wincing as it burned her still, and began to pull, pulling hard, harder, she snarled and her hands became half claws as the tendons on her neck stood out, pulling harder yet. Suddenly, the collar snapped, and she pulled it from around his neck, tossed it to Eena as Amy wrapped a blanket around him. "Try to shift, Mowgli, try," Sam said.

A moment later, where a beautiful black wolf had been, a sharp featured, pale man with black hair looked up at her with the same gorgeous blue eyes. "Hi there," Sam said, and he burst into tears, leaning on her shoulder. " 'S okay, it's okay," she whispered. "It's okay." She patted his shoulder through the blanket, leaving bloody handprints as she tried to soothe him, crooning, and Eena and Kenneth looked at one another and smiled. 

"Words," he gasped out. "Hard."

"It'll take a day or two to get your words back. You been four foot a long time, Mow -- shit. What's your name, darlin'? Your real name?" 

"Os. Os. Oswald."

"Dang. That's a mouthful. Well, welcome to Ross Mountain, Oswald." She looked up at Randy and Nick, waiting beside her. "You wanna go with the boys, see if they can find you something to wear?" He nodded. "Boys, help him up, be gentle, for the love of Christ; he ain't been two foot in forever." Gently, careful of the blanket, of his modesty, they helped him stand, and Sam noticed he leaned on Randy to walk out of the room. She squatted back on her heels, blowing out a long breath as Amy shrieked.

"Sammie, you're bleeding!"

"Ain't nothin'," she said, looking down at the deep bloody scores on her palms. "They'll heal. Give it overnight, Amy, it'll just be another scar." She looked up at Eena and Kenneth. "Thank you both, thank you both kindly, for comin' in a hurry, for comin' at all."

"My pleasure to help you, always," Eena said. "Nicholas helped us."

"We are forever in his debt," Kenneth said as he grasped Eena's hand, pulled her into a loose embrace. "And so we come for his Pack."

"Y'all are Pack too, just different," Sam said as she stood. "Let's get y'all fed, though. Reckon those three'll be out in a bit, Amy, you want to go check him out again now that he's two foot?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I'd better." She went to her room to get her stuff, tapped on the boys' door gently.

"Yeah?" Nick hollered.

"Nurse Amy, come to see her patient if he's willing," she called through the door. It opened a minute later, Randy letting her in to see the stranger half dressed in some of Nick's sweatpants. "That's perfect for what I'm doing. Hey. Are you okay with me checking you over? The boys can stay if you want." 

"Fine," he rasped. 

"You want some water? Your throat sore?"

"No, fine." Amy nodded.

"It's probably just your vocal cords aren't used to being used for human speech anymore. It'll wear off in a day or two, probably right in time for your words to come all the way back. Would you mind -- Nick, I swear to God, you live like a pig, not a wolf…would you mind sitting on the edge of the bed for me?"

"Sam. Alpha. Bleedy -- no. Bleeding. You said."

"Yep. Collar got her good. Don't," she said as he tried to move, to get past her. "Sammie's fine. She heals really quick, it'll probably be all scabbed over already. Shhh. It's okay. She'd do it all over again, I know her. She asked me to come check you over now that I can do so properly. Now please, help me obey her."

Amy came out of the boys' room ten minutes later to find Sam on the side porch with Eena and Kenneth. "They're stayin' the night," Sam said as she stepped out. "Figure we'll put them in the boys' room, put you in mine, put Mow -- damn. Oswald in yours. Omega scent ought to help him relax."

"Sounds good. He's okay, Sis. A lot better than when I checked him the first night. At least two pups, I'd guess more, he's already starting to show some." She hesitated. "He…he couldn't say, but I don't think he wants them."

Sam nodded. "I didn't reckon he did if the situation was what I think it is, Amy. His right. His choice."

"I know. I know, but Sissy…" Amy came and sat on the side of Samantha's chair, and Sam rubbed her back. 

"Choice is a good thing, Amy Beth. I know that, you know that. Ain't our business," Sammie shrugged. "He ain't Pack. He's got hunting rights, that's all."

"He helped," Amy muttered, and Sammie nodded again. 

"He did. He seemed real nice four foot, but darlin', we don't just go adopting everybody. Besides," she said, looking toward the door, "do you really think he'll want to be here much past gettin' his words back? I doubt it."

"You're not kicking him out," Amy said.

"No! Hell no. No. He's welcome to stay so long as he helps out and all. I'm just sayin', we don't know him yet, I can't bring him in the Pack till we do. I did what I could, I did more than I should, and I'm gonna keep on with that, but Pack takes…I gotta see who he is, you know what I mean. We got his name now, but who he is under the skin, before I can put that to Council." She looked at the can of cider in her hand. "We got any juice? I'd really he rather not drink, of course that's up to him, but --"

"Got some cranberry grape," Amy said. 

"That'll work if he'll drink it," Sammie said, laying her head back against her chair. The screen door opened behind her, and she tilted just a little to see Randy.

"Amy, did you ask about Granddaddy's cane yet? I swear to God it hurts me to watch him try to walk without one."

"What?" Sammie sat up. "What's wrong with him?"

"Shit, I forgot, I got talking about the babies. He's got hip dysplasia, Sis, it's a birth defect. His right leg turns out, makes it hard for him to walk." 

"And Jesus fuck, he glares if you mention it," Randy said. "You can tell that's a sore point."

"Shit. Does he hurt?"

"Probably," Amy said. "I don't think he'd say. He's probably used to it, actually."

"Not in my damn house," Sammie growled, and rose. "If y'all will excuse me a minute, I need to see to my other guest," she said to Eena and Kenneth, seated together on the porch swing.

"Of course," Kenneth said, graciously inclining his head, and Sammie was inside in a moment, headed for her bedroom. She didn't have much of their grandfather's, not much at all, but she had his canes. Two of them. The old Alpha had made his way on them before he'd succumbed to the wheelchair, struck down by rheumatoid arthritis in the prime of life. 

She brought them both out of her closet, hands running over the hickory, remembering his smile, his laugh, deep and growly, his voice singing hymns and telling her stories, teaching her how to be an Alpha, an Alpha he'd be proud of. She sucked in a deep breath. Mow -- damn it. Oswald. His name was Oswald. He was Omega. He'd be short. She'd have to…they'd have to cut it down. And that was okay. Alpha serves. Granddaddy would want her to, he'd do it himself if he were here. It was okay. She could almost hear him telling her that. "Just a thing, Sam, just a thing, the folk, the Pack, the people, they're what's important…"

Her eyes were still a little red when she came back out of her bedroom and headed for the side porch again, hearing Randy talking out there. "Gonna need the Skil saw," she said as she came through the door, "gonna need to measure." 

"I figured you had them," Randy said as he turned, and she saw Oswald, there, sitting in Nick's old Army sweats a few chairs down from where she usually did. "Daddy sold most everything else, but I figured you hid these back."

"He wouldn't have got more than ten dollars for'em no way," she said. "Gonna have to cut'em down, though."

"You okay with that?" Randy asked, and she nodded, not trusting her voice for a second. When she did speak, everyone could still hear the tears.

"He would have -- he would have wanted me to," she said. "He would have, if he were here, hell, he'd send me out to the garage for the saw, woulda sawed'em his own self."

"You want to go get it?" Randy asked, but Kenneth interrupted them.

"No need, dear friends," he said, holding out his hand. "They are wooden, are they not?"

"Yep. Hickory," Sam said. "It don't break."

"Indeed. A stubborn wood, a strong wood, but still wood. New friend, will you stand for me?" Randy nodded, offered his hand, and helped Oswald up. "Here then. Your voice, I know, is still hiding. So tap my hand when it is at the proper height for you, an you will." Kenneth closed his eyes, and slowly, the cane Oswald held began to shrink, from its height to his waist, down, down, until it was the perfect height to help him make his way around. He did as he was asked, and Kenneth opened his eyes. "Well then. There, and Samantha, when he has no need of it more, I will restore it as it was for you. For your memory."

"I'm grateful," she said, and this time didn't try to hide her tears. "Thank you, Kenny."

"My pleasure. No one of us here enjoys seeing someone in pain, new friend. If we can ease it, so we shall. And you are right, Samantha, so right; Ethan sends his love, and his pride in you." 

She gasped, hard, sucking in air like she was drowning. "I'm glad," she said at last. "I'm so glad, I try, I try so hard." Randy was beside her, pulling her into a hug, petting her hair. "Sorry," she said, "sorry. Y'all were havin' a real good time, sorry."

"And we still are," Eena said, holding up her wineglass. "Sit, drink, be easy. Music, we need music, Nicholas, Amelia, bring us instruments, I would play."

A few minutes later, Randy and Sammie with their guitars, Amy with her fiddle, Kenneth and Nicky with bodhrans and Eena with the penny whistle, they began to play, the mortals following the Feyrie's melodies to begin with, taking turns as the night wore on. 

A few days, he thought as he leaned back in the chair, listening to the music. A few days longer wouldn't hurt anything. Just until he got his voice back, until he was back to normal. They'd kept him as a wolf, they'd let him stay a little longer. They truly were good people. He would go home soon enough. A few days more wouldn’t make any difference.

The Feyrie ended up in Sam's bed, Amy in Randy's, and Oswald in Amy's in the end. Sam wouldn't let the Feyrie sleep in Nick's room after she saw the mess in there. Sam and the boys ended up on the couch and on the floor. After breakfast the next morning, pancakes and bacon and eggs and scones, Eena and Kenneth left, and the Pack was left alone, save for their guest, who seemed perfectly content to read on the couch. Which was fine, it was Saturday, Sam didn't make anybody work more than necessary on Saturday and Sunday. And now she had to think, if he was going to stay longer than the few days she figured on, had to try to think of something else he could do. Four footed, him gathering kindling worked. Two footed, it didn't. Even with the cane, she could see that he hurt when he walked.

She settled in her chair, tucking her long legs up under her as she reached for her own book, hid a smile as she saw what he was reading. The Jungle Book. Well, that was mighty fine. They only had eight copies. Amy was working on a cross-stitch on the other end of the couch, and the boys were listening to the football game in Randy's room over the radio. "Amy, what kinda progress you makin' on the pantry?" she asked as she sipped a fresh cup of coffee.

"I hate doing the pantry, Sam," Amy said, and Sammie rolled her eyes. 

"I know you do, Sissy, but it still needs done. I gotta know what we need for winter so I can budget it into the grocery money."

"Sissssyyyyy," Amy drawled, and laid her head back against the couch dramatically. 

"You ain't six no more, Amy Beth, that ain't worked since then. Have you even started?"

"Yes. I started."

"Well, it's Saturday, you know I don't expect you to do anything today and tomorrow 'sides the dailies, but you really need to get on that come Monday," Sam warned her. " 'Cause I don't like the idea of January comin' and us bein' hungry in an ice storm."

"It's annoying and it's boring and I'd rather do almost anything else," Amy replied. 

"I know that, but I can't do that and go haul wood and scout for deer sign and get the house ready for winter and all. I'm only one person, Amy. I need your help, the Pack needs your help." She flipped her book open to the bookmark. "Monday, Amelia Elizabeth, you get back on it."

"You're not Mama --"

"Nope, thank Christ, and we're done with that in front of company," Sam warned. "I expect the pantry, the deep freezes, and the root cellar done next week. You've had a week to get started, you didn't, 'cause I know you, and I'm done."

"What are you going to do if I don't?" Sam rolled her eyes at the attitude. 

"Quit showin' your ass 'cause company's here. I'll drag you out by your ear and remind you why I'm Alpha, that's what I'll do."

"Samantha," Oswald said, never looking up, "Inventory?"

"Yep. That's what I need, and she's bein' obstinate."

"I'll do it," he offered. "Good at that."

"You're more than welcome to help her, but not today, today's Saturday. And by God, Amelia, you're going to help. You ain't just shovin' this off on him."

"No, it'll be easier with company," Amy said, smug smile showing that she'd gotten her way again. 

"And you'll do the root cellar, I don't want him down there. Might be mold or somethin'." Amy sighed, but she nodded. "Good. Now here's hopin' Tennessee wins, or else the boys'll be devastated. College football," she clarified when Oswald looked up. "They pay attention. Is football something --" she laughed at his horrified expression. "I guess not."

"No, not me. Chess. Pool, sometimes. Long time ago." He smiled. "Long time ago."

"You hustled it, didn't you?" Sam grinned. "No, don't, I can tell," she said as he tried to look innocent. 

"Angles," he shrugged. "I'm good with numbers, with angles."

"And your words are comin', that's your first complete sentence," she said. "Won't be long." She sank into her reading. Well that was a blessing, thank you baby Jesus. Hopefully Amy'd be able to explain exactly what she needed to know, but the pantry and all was at least a four day job, even with two people. If Amy couldn't, she could, after she saw what he could do.

  
  


She never saw his glance at her own book, absorbed as she was in trying to parse through the prose. The Gulag Archipelago? She read Russian writers? She seemed to be halfway through it, and he had read the damn thing four times himself. He knew how complex it was. Turning the page of his own, he glanced down at the top book on the shelf under the end table. The Prince. One of his favorites, actually…a surreptitious glance back at the Alpha….Samantha. 

And why did everyone call her Sam or Sammie? In deference to her Alpha status? Why not call her by her name, it was a lovely, feminine name. Not the question at the moment. The question was why an extremely physical woman such as herself would find authors such as Machiavelli and Solzhenitsyn interesting. Her Pack was small, she seemed to have no wish to expand it. Why The Prince, then? And why would she be interested in the writings of a former political prisoner, too? Other than the trite, "They're classics, you should read them," trope. Just from the few days he had spent with her, he could picture her sneer at someone saying such a thing.

He turned back to his own book now, diving into the story and poetry that Kipling wove. Kaa was not a villain, apparently, but an ally. Baloo, while still silly at times, held more wisdom than he'd ever given thought to. And Raksha. Even in her old age, defending Mowgli, helping him. He should bring her Selina, the thought crossed his mind. Then she would have the troupe, for if she wouldn't name Selina Bagheera, he would…he would go logging. 

  
  


Monday evening, coming in to the smell of deer stew in the crock pot, Sam was bone damn tired, hurting, frustrated, and irritable. Nick had been a pain in the ass all damn day, Randy hadn't been far behind, and at the moment, she wanted to go get on her bike and just ride down to Key West for the winter. Instead, she got a cider from the fridge, turning as she heard the tapping of the cane coming from the pantry. "Hey, sugar," she said, popping the top and taking a long drink. "Tell me you've had a better day than I have." Blue eyes rolled. "Oh, Hell. Amy givin' you fits?"

"She's certainly been less than helpful." He handed her a piece of paper, filled with neat printing. "Is this anything like what you're looking for?"

"You got your words back, Oswald, that's great!" She reached out to hug him, stopped as he flinched. "Oh. Sorry."

"No, I -- I'm just -- I'm a little jumpy, Samantha, I apologize. Thank you. I'm very happy about it as well." Tentatively, he opened his free arm, and Sam hugged him loosely, quickly, before he leaned away again. "Please, if you would. If I'm doing it wrong, I need to know." Sam looked down, read through the columns he'd drawn, tried to make sense of it. 

"Okay, explain your system to me, honey, so I can read this right," she said. 

"It's simple. P is partial, F is full, for the buckets and so on."

"Oh, I get it now. Yeah. Yeah, this is exactly what I need," she said, reading through. "Hell, looks like you're half done already, I'd guess." She handed it back to him. "Good job, really good job, thank you. It's a big help." And it sure hell looked like she was gonna have to scrape somewhere, but they'd make it. Somehow. They'd make it.

"You're welcome. It's the very least I can do." He waited, looking at her. "You said it had been a bad day?"

"Fuckin' Nicky and Randy bein' fuckin' pains in the ass," she agreed. "We shoulda got another quarter cord cut this morning and they jacked around instead of workin', barely got an eighth." She grabbed another can of cider, she'd be done with the one in her hand in a minute. "Then splittin' and stackin' didn't go so hot either, fuck all," she hissed as she stood up straight, put a hand to her back. "Nicky got pissy and decided he wanted to sling instead of stack."

"And that means…" Oswald asked.

"And he hit me with a piece, got me square. Little fucker, even if he is my LitterBrother." She drained her can, dropped it in the recycling trash. "Amy in there?"

"No. She's supposed to be in the root cellar, wherever that is."

"Below the garage. Shit." She popped her second cider open. "It's after five, darlin', hang it up for the day. I'm gonna go take a hot bath and drink my cares away." 

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded. 

"I'll be fine, he just got me real damn good. Little fucker." She leaned against the counter, hissing again, and tried to smile. "So tell me how less than helpful Amy Beth's been so I can box her ears for it."

"That is a phrase I don't think I've ever actually heard used. Interesting," he mused. "She…well. She brought me the notebook I asked her for, she opened the door, and said have at it. No, I'm exaggerating," he added when Sam started to straighten. "Slightly."

"Hell. Little princess is gonna get her ass straight stomped," Sam said. "She knows damn good and well she was supposed to show you what I wanted done, she was supposed to -- "

"Samantha, I have years of experience in restaurants and bars, I know how to take inventory. I told her so," he said, dragging a chair away from the kitchen table and sitting down. "I did expect her to help, but as you said and as I've seen over the last six days, Amy is the princess."

"Every damn bit of it, always has been, and after Kevin -- hell. Never mind. But you and me need to have palaver anyway, sugar, since you got your words back; you ready for me to take you home?" He paled, sucked his breath in and looked away. "Oswald? You okay?"

"I…I'm fine." Sammie straightened, put her cider on the counter and crossed over to squat down in front of him; she was taller by four inches and she knew if he'd been through what she thought he had, he wouldn’t appreciate her looming over him.

"Hey, sugar, I'm just askin'," she said, looking up at him instead. "We ain't kickin' you out, not by a long shot, I'm just askin'. Reckon you'd rather spend the winter in the city than way the hell out here." He nodded, but he couldn't or wouldn't look her in the eyes.

"I'm scared," he admitted. "I thought of it today, of going home, and I realized, I realized any Alpha could just drop me, just like that," he snapped his fingers, "and I'd…I'd obey, hesitantly, fighting it, but I would obey." He looked at her fully now, and she could have screamed for the fear in his eyes. "And it scares me to death, Samantha. I can't go through that again, I can't, I can't…"

"Hey, now. Hey," she said, patting his left knee. "Ain't gonna happen, sugar, I'm guessing you passed for a long time, right?"

"I did, but a twitch. That's all. I twitched when another Alpha used tone in front of me, and he…he saw it." He gulped, trying not to cry. "It's…in my line of work, it's horribly difficult to be an Omega, I've only heard of a few who did so…"

"Okay," she nodded. "Okay, but others have."

"Yes, but it's immensely difficult, almost impossible. Everything is based on bravado, machismo, intimidation and power," he said, watching her tilt her head, listening. 

"The hell kind of work you do, Oswald?" she asked. "I know you ain't service, I know you ain't -- oh, holy fucking hell," she said, putting it together. "You got an odd last name, too, don't you?"

"It's…rather uncommon."

"Fuck," she breathed, eyes going wide. "New Jersey. Gotham. You're him. Fella what played'em all like a harp from Hell."

"I had no idea my celebrity had spread so far," he said, and watched her face twist into a wry smile.

"Ha. We don't spend all our time on the mountain. Me and the boys merc out from time to time, I watch the news every so often when we do. Read papers. I know who y'are. Must be a hell of a thing to have to make do with worn out sweats and deer meat, 'stead of tailored suits and foie gras." 

"I don't care for foie gras, it's too rich," he tried to joke, but Samantha didn't smile. "Samantha, you saved my life, you and the…the Pack, you've saved my life and given me back myself. I'm extremely grateful for everything you've done so far, I promise you, and when I do contact my people in Gotham, I will ensure that you're more than adequately compensated for your trouble, if you'll allow me to do so." A smile spread across her face, and then she threw back her head and laughed. "Samantha, I can, I will --"

"No, no, no. History repeatin' itself, that's all," she said, still smiling. "It tends to do that."

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind, private thing. You know, though, you know I didn't pick you up out the rain for money," she said. 

"I'm well aware. However, I…I can't…I'm not sure I can express how very grateful I am," he said. "I doubt I ever can, I doubt there is any amount of money that might do so. You gave me back my humanity, Samantha, you broke the collar, and I can't…I will never be able to repay you. Never."

"Oh, hell. I'd'a done the same for anybody in your situation, sugar," she said. "Money's just green paper, I don't know why everybody puts so damn much stock in it. I need it same as everybody else, but I don't go grabbin' after it. I ain't worried about rewards, Oswald." 

"And that is precisely why you should be rewarded," he said, and watched that private smile slip across her face again. 

"Yep, for makin' you work, for feedin' you country folk food --"

"I don't mind working, I never have, and it's human food, Samantha, human, you don't know…the last time I had a human meal of any sort was April thirteenth before I met with…with my…my attacker. Dog food. He kept me in that collar and treated me as a dog for over two months. I promise you, the chicken six days ago and every meal since has been manna from Heaven." Her eyes glowed golden, burned down to dark gold and almost, not quite, red, before she shook her head, shook it off. He didn't need to see an Alpha in bloodlust right then.

"Has Nicky cooked yet? 'Cause I don't think you'll be sayin' that then," she laughed. "No, he traded Randy, didn't he?"

"Yes. Two nights ago. I keep up, I'm wondering when I work into the rotation," he said. 

"Oh, here pert soon, if you stick around," Samantha said, standing. "Listen, we'll talk more in a bit, all right? I figure the boys and Amy ought to come burstin' in here any minute, and I really do need a hot bath, my back hurts like a cunt. But we ain't tossin' y'out on y'ear. Study on it, figure out what you want to do, okay?"

"I…yes. Thank you, Samantha. Thank you so very much." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the tears. He had been worried that they would do exactly that, once his words came back. Even more when he watched her realize who he was. A gentle touch on his shoulder made him look up at her again.

"You're more than welcome, honey. And as for Amy, there'll be a show later, I promise you. She shouldn't have shoved the pantry off on you, no matter how experienced you are. She's really a good girl, honest, she just hates doin' this, makin' lists and whatnot. She's usually a lot better." She started to bend to hug him again, hesitated until he nodded, and then did so, very lightly, making sure he could pull away when he was ready. "I'll be in the tub when those hellions come in, if they ask." She left, and he gathered his composure again, struggled to gather it together. 

  
  


A show.

Oh, was there a show.

Sammie came out of the bathroom to find Amy sitting on the couch, playing around with her cross-stitch again. She walked straight out of the hallway, nodded to the boys, (Randy with a busted lip and Nick with a black eye) and snatched Amy Beth up by her hair with one hand and her ear with the other. "Oswald, get the door for me, darlin', you're closest," she said, pretty as you please and twice as gentle as she marched Amy toward the side door. He moved as fast as he could to obey, but she was still faster, still had to wait as Amy clawed and scratched at her arms, swinging as best she could to try to hit Sammie, who stood well behind her. "Amy, you hit him, you're gonna get it twic't as bad and I'll sic the brothers on you too, you stop it. Thank you kindly, darlin'. You're gonna want to step out here and watch, too, you're the one got disrespected."

Randy looked at the commotion and raised one eyebrow toward Nick, who was sitting with an ice pack on his eye, watching avidly. "Dis gon be gud?" Nick nodded.

"Dis gon be gud, bro. Popcorn?"

"Not gonna be time, there never is when she goes after Amy Beth." As one, the Betas rose from the couch and eased out on the porch behind Oswald, who was watching Sam take Amy to the yard with a tiny smile.

"Now," Sam said as she threw Amy to the ground. "What were you told to do?"

"He said he could handle it --"

"That is not what I asked you, Amelia. What were you told to do?" Sammie stood over her sister, hands on her hips. "What?"

"To work with him on getting the pantry done, and to do the root cellar myself this week. But he said he could handle the pantry, he did, Sammie --"

"How was that said, exactly, Amelia? Was it, here's the pantry, Sammie needs to know what we need, I'm going to go play in the goddamn garage and pretend to get the root cellar done, or was it, here, let me tell you exactly what Sam wants and show you how we do things, here, I'll do this set of shelves and you do that one and let's goddamn work fucking together? Which was it, Amy? Which?" Amy glared up at her older sister, scrabbling backwards to climb to her feet, her jeans getting grass stained, her eyes beginning to shine in the gloaming. "I want an answer. Which fucking was it?"

"He said he knew how to do an inventory for restaurants and stuff, I reckoned that was close enough to what you wanted. I said okay, you do your thing, I'm gonna go get the root cellar done."

"Oswald, is that anywhere near the truth?" Sam shouted, never taking her eyes from Amy.

"Yes, Samantha. Pretty much." He sat down, that small smile growing bigger as the Betas leaned against the porch posts.

"Amelia Elizabeth Ross. What were you told to do?"

"To work together."

"Do you know what I've gone through today with your brothers? Do you know why your brothers are both walkin' wounded right now?"

"Hadn't gotten to talking about it yet," she said, realizing she really might have been the straw that broke the camel's back today.

"I got a log upside my back, they both mouthed off to me about a thousand times too many, and I come in this evening and all I wanted, Amy, all I goddamn wanted was a hot bath and a cider, and I find you been slackin' today, too. So the only one out of the four of you who done what I asked, the way I fuckin' asked, is someone who ain't even goddamn kin to me who don't know what it is to live through a winter on this mountain. Y'all do!" she roared, including the boys in her rage. "Y'all fuckin' know! And now we got an extra mouth to feed, pups comin', I need y'all! I can't do this by my fuckin' self! No matter how hard I fuckin' try, there's only one of me, and I can't do it all!" 

The Betas both whined as she roared, backing up to the wall, Amy backing away from her sister's rage as well. The only one unaffected, and he realized that suddenly, was Oswald. She wasn't angry with him. Just her family. She could direct her Alpha rage, he realized. That was interesting.

"Amy. Did you actually work on the root cellar, or did you fuck around with your cross-stitch and your phone?"

"I got about an eighth of it done, Alpha," Amy said, bowing her head.

"And the rest of the time, you were fucking around."

"And the rest of the time I wasted time, yes, Alpha."

"Choice, Amelia. I can kick your ass and take your cross stitch shit and your phone until it's done, or you can go apologize to Oswald for leavin' him with the pantry work when you were told to do different, and I can take your stuff until it's done. Either way, I promise, you will be cryin' pardon. Just one ain't so painful, or so humiliating." Sammie struggled to keep her temper. "And I'm tellin' you, tonight is not a night to cross me, Amelia Elizabeth. It is not."

"Cry -- he isn't Pack, Sammie," Amy said, confused, and Sam laughed.

"Hell, he's the only person who's acting like Pack to me today. Only person who followed Alpha's instructions. Actin' more like Pack than you three. So by God and by the Mountain, you'll cry pardon, or I'll fuckin' make you cry pardon, and you don't even want to pretend that I can't," Sammie snarled, her fingernails lengthening and then drawing back. Amy didn't even think about it, Sammie very rarely, very rarely ever got this angry. She went to the porch and knelt on the second step, looking up at Oswald.

"I cry pardon, I apologize for leavin' you with the pantry when we were supposed to work together. I'll be better tomorrow."

"Do you accept her apology?" Sammie asked, still in the yard. "Or do you want blood price?"

"No, no, there's no need for that," he said quickly. "Of course I accept your apology, Amy."

"Good. There anyone else who's got their head up their ass about what's comin'? Winter here's a bitch, I want to make sure we ain't caught without enough wood and enough food if there's a bad ice storm, y'all, that's all, swear to God, if we just work hard the next week or two, we'll be done. We'll be ready, and y'all can fuck around all day long, 'cept for the usual stuff, the sweepin' and whatnot." Sam was tired now. Getting mad always wore her plumb out. 

"No, Sammie," Amy said, turning back around. "And I'm sorry, I disrespected you, too. Cry your pardon, Alpha."

"Pardon granted, PackSister. Pardon granted, because I love you, but fuck's sake." She stormed up to the porch and leapt up on the boards, ignoring the steps. "And you two?"

"No, Alpha, we'll be better tomorrow," Randy said quickly. "We'll get things done from now on. Won't we, Nick?"

"Yep. Absolutely. No problem. And I really am sorry about your back, Sam, you know I am."

"I know. Amy, you get your phone, you gather your cross stitch shit, you put it in my room. Randy, you watch her and make sure she does what she's told. I'm gonna sit out here and try to calm down."

"You want another cider, Sissy? Or your guitar?"

"I'd break the strings right now. And no. I don't need another cider, I done had two. But thank you, Nicky. Go on, I don't want to deal with you three right now. And close the big door." She threw herself into her usual chair, laid her head back and closed her eyes for a few minutes, waited for them to just fucking do what she said for once today, before speaking.

"Y'ever just want to go run away from home?"

"Ha. I have. I am, in a fashion," he answered her.

"Yeah, I mean the good kind. The kind with sandy beaches and frou frou drinks in coconuts and shit. Key West, the, what's it, the Conch Republic. She is callin' my damn name."

"Why not St. Thomas, or St. Croix? The Virgin Islands?" he asked, and she grinned as she raised her head again.

"Can't ride my bike there. I can ride all the way to Key West. I think. Cali or Cancun, Baja California, Tijuana. Believe you me, tonight is one of the nights I dream of it." Her head dropped back again. "And here comes the fuckin' headache. Those three, I swear to God. I'm sorry. Cry your pardon, I shouldn't have lost my temper, I shouldn't have expected Amy to behave."

"You're human, Samantha," he said. "Everyone has a breaking point." She nodded, raising one hand to her temple. 

"I sure hell do. Thank Christ I only cross it once or twice a year." She sighed. "Hell. If she gives you any trouble tomorrow, tell me."

"I will if she does, but I believe you've frightened her enough to at least pretend to work together." 

"She does or she doesn't get her shit back. Period. I hate treating her like a child, but she's who's acting like one, ergo she gets treated like one." She hesitated, then shrugged and went ahead. "I meant what I said. You acted more like Pack today than my sibs, and I appreciate it, Oswald. Thank you kindly."

"I…you're very welcome, Samantha. I assumed it was very important. What are the winters like here?" He asked, leaning toward her, chin on his fist. 

"Wet. Cold. Mostly rain, we get some snow usually but not as much as say, Ohio or Kentucky most of the time. Y'all on the Coast prolly get more," she said. "But we do tend to get ice. Ice storms comin' down, and where we live at, we're a little isolated, you might have noticed." She grinned, and he smiled back. "There ain't no getting down the mountain in an ice storm, nor up it neither. And if the power goes out, it takes a while for the trucks to get up our way. I've…when we was little, there was one storm blew it out for three weeks. When me and the boys was little, Amy wasn't born yet."

"You're separate litters?"

"Me, Randy, Nicky in Mama's first. Amy all by herself in her next. She lost one in between." She paused, rubbed her temple again. "Ice storms in this house without no wood, 'thout electric, is beggin' to die. That's what it is. And I can keep that from happenin', I can keep all y'all safe and warm and fed, but we gotta work together. Sad thing is, they know this, they do, every last damn one of them has grown up on this mountain, and they still wanna play grasshoppers and pretend winter ain't comin'. Well, it is. And I try to let them do what they want for over half the summer, over half, we don't even log in July and August 'cause it's too hot. But damn it, it's comin' now for damn sure and I just know in my bones it's gonna be a bad one. And now, I ain't meanin' this bad, but now we've got you and the lil'uns to think on, so long as y'stay. And you're welcome to," she added, "but I got to be the mean ass grownup on those three or they'll fuck around. An' I ain't gonna be the one buryin' a pup up on the mountain 'cause it was too cold."

His hands dropped to his stomach, and he crossed his arms protectively. "No. No, I understand. I…I had…I had thought about aborting. If it were possible. But I think I'm too far along now."

"I don't know. I don't know for sure how far along y'are. If that's what you want, well, I'll try…" she leaned her head back again, tried to think of how much money was in the bank, how much she could get if she pawned the title to Fantasy again. "Multiples, Amy said, damn. Honest, I…for me to get that kind of money --"

"I can get the money, Samantha, money's not a problem," he interrupted her. "No, don't -- don't worry about money. Don't."

"Well, then, if you really want it, I can drive you up to Cincinnati," she offered. "Probably the closest place you'd be able to get it done. Tennessee is hell on Omega abortions, even in…even when…"

"Even when the Omega has been raped." He said, his voice flat. 

"Yeah. An' listen, you're more important than the work, okay, people are more important. I'll find a way to make things work if that's what you want. We'll go as soon as you can get the money. Okay?" He nodded, his hands still crossed over his stomach. "I reckon you were studyin' on this the whole time you were four footed. I reckon you ought to know your mind on it --"

"I don't," he said. "One minute I want to…to end it, the next I want to keep them, or at least birth them and give them up."

"Well, sure. They're half you, after all. As for their…piss poor no-count white trash excuse for a sire --"

"You are rather eloquent, in your own manner," he interrupted, and she nodded.

"I am that. As for Shere Khan, Mowgli, don't you worry none, Raksha'll tear his hide from his body, if that's what you want. Skin the fucker alive and douse him in kerosene." Her smile was closer to a snarl. 

"I like the way you think, Raksha," he said. 

"I'll even loan you my Zippo after," she said, pulling the lighter from her pocket and flipping it open, lit.

"Now I know I like the way you think," he smiled back, cold and fierce, as predatory as her snarl. "I need…I need to decide what I'm going to do, first. Both with the…the pups…and with what I'm going to do. Whether I stay or not."

"I know I keep sayin' it, but I want you to hear me, all right, I want you to listen well; you're welcome as long as you want. Okay? I mean it." She pressed at her temple again. "And now I'm afraid you're going to have to excuse me, likely the rest of the evening. They done set off my migraines." She stood up, wobbled at first as the pain and pressure started to spread, and he tried to get up to catch her, but she caught herself. "No, thank you, I'm all right. Just got too mad is all." She made her way through the side door, leaving him on the porch to consider the evening's events, to think of what she had said, what she was offering.

She still wasn't feeling fantastic the next morning, the pressure still a vise around her head, but she could move, the light sensitivity had faded, and there was work to be done. So when her alarm went off at five in the morning, she dragged herself up out of bed, leaving Amy behind under the nice warm covers. They would have to do something about him sleepin' somewhere if he stayed, she thought as she poked the fire up into life, placed logs carefully in the cast iron stove, closed it. She left the damper and the ash pan open for now, just to let it catch. By the time she'd had her coffee and all, it'd be ready to close. 

She hiked herself up on the counter, waiting for the coffee to drip, humming to herself as she woke up. Poured her cup, tugged her leather jacket down from its hook beside the back door, and stepped out into the cold morning, watching her breath puff out from her mouth, the steam from the coffee in her hand joining it. Went to the first step, sat down, and looked out toward the east to greet the morning.

"Well, I sure jacked up yesterday, Lord," she began. "But You know I ain't perfect. Ain't never claimed to be. Guidance would sure be welcome today, and if You wouldn't mind doin' something to straighten out Amy Beth here lately, I'd sure be grateful. Reckon she's showin' ass 'cause she's jealous of the attention Oswald's getting.

"An' that's another thing. I know my role, and I play it, I play it certain sure. I'm as kind and as good to others as I can be, and there's them what have entertained angels unawares. But Lord, really? First the king under the hill, and now, hell, the king of Gotham? What is it with me and helpin' out kings, Lord? I don't get it. I sure don't. While You're passin' out guidance, reckon he could use some, too. Guidance and strength and courage for my guest, Lord, an' you will. 

"Help me be more patient. Grant me wisdom, grant me grace, grant me strength to be what these four need me to be. I know You help them what help themselves, an' You can't say I don't try. You just can't. I bust my ass daily to make sure everyone's got what they need. I don't see what else I can give up, what else I can do, to make sure that happens. But of course, You can. 

"And sufficient unto the day, sufficient unto today, You said, is the trouble thereof, and I sure ain't borrowin' more, You're right. Just get through today. I'll try, Lord. I'll sure try. In Jesus' name. Amen." She sipped her coffee, watching the stars begin to fade, before singing, very softly, "One bright morning, when this life is o'er, I'll fly away. To my home on God's celestial shore, I'll fly away. I'll fly away, oh, glory, I'll fly away, in the mornin', when I die, hallelujah by and by, I'll fly away…"

Inside, he leaned against the wall as she started the second verse. He shouldn't have listened to that. That was private, he really shouldn't have. He'd only listened because he'd heard her voice, seen the back door standing just a bit open. He'd just meant to start breakfast, as a gesture, as a way to try to find his place here. To try to make things just a little easier for everyone, and, if he admitted it, for her. Samantha had had a horrible day the day before, he didn't think she'd even eaten supper. By the time he had come back inside from his own introspection, she'd been in bed, the three quiet as mice, which had shown him more than they knew. 

Sighing, he limped to the refrigerator, began taking out ingredients. He couldn't take her burdens. They weren't his, he didn't quite understand them all, but he could do this. It might help. And he would…he would try to work with Amelia today in a productive manner. Ask questions, ask the right questions, to learn more about his hosts. To try to help him make the decision he needed to make, whether to stay longer, or leave, to alleviate the burdens. He had to be honest with himself, he could lie to everyone else, he knew, but he never lied to himself; he wanted to stay. But was it the right thing to do?

The scent of bacon interrupted Sam's reverie, and she turned to the back door. Who was up? It wasn't but five thirty yet. She rose, her coffee was gone anyway, and went in to see Oswald cooking breakfast, some bacon already cooling on a plate. "Good morning," she said, leaning on the doorjamb.

"Good morning, Samantha," he smiled at her. "Feeling better?"

"Somewhat. Still gonna be a bear this mornin', I'm afraid. Stealin' a piece," she said, snatching a piece of bacon from the plate and passing behind him to refill her coffee cup. "Damn that's good. Just how I like it, just chewy enough. What can I do to help, sugar?"

"Ah. If you'd like to slice the bread for toast? I'm afraid I don't know the biscuit recipe yet. And I'm not going to attempt the white gravy."

"Milk gravy takes a lifetime to learn right," she nodded as she took a loaf of bread from the box, got out the bread knife. "I ain't never quite got it right myself, I always make it too thick. Granny used to say I just wasn't patient enough. Randy does a fine job on it, though, if you want to learn it, come watch him sometime."

"I will." He couldn't keep playing with the bacon, so he turned around to face her. "How much of an inconvenience am I, Samantha?"

"Oh, Lord Jesus on his cross," she murmured, putting the knife down. "I like you right fine, Oswald, and like I said, yesterday you was more Pack than my sibs. You're pullin' your weight real well. Just keep helpin' as you can. It might get a little harder to find stuff you can do, as…well, depending on decisions you make. But we voted you hunting rights, honey, that means you stay as long as you like, so long as you respect us and our rules." 

"I read about that," he said, turning back to the stove. "Hunting rights, and Mowgli in front of the Rock."

"Yep. An' I'm both Raksha and Akela, and I have yet to miss my leap," she grinned. 

"No one's killed a bull for me yet, though," he smarted off, and she laughed. 

"Nope, but I swear to God, come deer season, you might be surprised how much butcherin' we do. 'Specially you keep'em, the babies, I mean. That'll throw all three of us, me and Randy and Nicky, into high gear. Instinct. Got to provide." She shrugged her jacket off, slung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs before going to see to the wood stove, shutting the damper, shutting the ash tray door, and coming back in the kitchen. "Can I ask a personal question?" she said as she passed by him to hang her jacket up properly.

"You may."

"How old are you, anyway? You don't look past thirty."

"Thirty-four. Thank you for the compliment." He smiled as he plated scrambled eggs. "And you?"

"Me and the boys is all the same as you. Amy's twenty-seven." She took the plate he handed her, got her coffee cup, and sat down at the table. "Come eat with me, hell, let the kids sleep another ten minutes. It won't kill'em if it ain't perfectly hot." He hummed agreement, covered the eggs, and brought his own plate across from her. They were silent for several minutes.

"Have you always seen to them, Samantha? Tried to, anyway?" he asked after a few minutes. She nodded, looking out the kitchen window for a minute, trying to decide how much to tell him.

"Our folks were…neglectful," she said at last. Wasn't any point in pussyfootin' it. "It wasn't so bad while Granddaddy and Granny were alive. Mamaw, Mamaw was hell on wheels, she was crazy, the mean type of crazy. Ugly type of crazy. Passed it down to Mama." She picked at her eggs for a few seconds. "Mama and Daddy liked weed a little too well. And we do, too, not as well as they did, but…me and the boys, we served in-country. When the flashbacks get too bad, smokin' a bowl makes it better. Makes us easier."

"I thought I smelled it. It's not a problem."

"Not while you're carryin', not in the house, I done told the boys. We want a bowl, we can go out to the garage. Anyway. Weed wasn't too bad, but about three years after Amy came, they found meth. And that's when everything just…we almost lost the mountain at one point, I know that. Taxes. 'Cause Daddy couldn't hold a job after that, an' Mama never did work. She pulled a crazy check. I'm still payin' back taxes," she sighed. "Gonna be prolly for another ten years. But it's getting done. This mountain, it's been in the Ross family since 1813. Gonna be for another two hundred years, if I get my way. But that ain't answerin' your question, I know." She got up and poured another cup of coffee, raised it toward him and topped his cup up at his nod before sitting back down.

"Mama and Daddy just…half the time they couldn't be bothered," she went on. "To remember we even existed, other than to tell us to bring them a Coke or to tell us to do somethin'. The other half of the time…the other half of the time, things weren't real fun. But it's a common thing up here, spare the rod and spoil the child. I ain't like that. I take the boys down a peg, I take Amy down a peg, sure, but they're grown, and I'm their Alpha, sometimes I kind of have to. They buck up on me, I have to remind them of the peckin' order, you know what I mean, you've had to do it with your…hell. Organization, I'll say. Sometimes, you have to remind folks you're the one in charge and why." She sipped her coffee and pushed her plate away. "Anyway, yeah, I been takin' care of these three since we were young. Real young. Wasn't anybody else stepping up."

"You're not done? You've barely eaten half --"

"It's good, it's real good," she assured him. "Just…talkin' about Mama and Daddy throws my appetite off. Nicky'll eat it, don't worry, it'll get ate."

"Samantha. How often do you do without?"

"Not often, I promise, it's just…like I said." She shrugged. "Memories."

"Where are your parents now? You're all very young, really."

"Dead. Mama shot Daddy, shot herself," Samantha said tersely. "About…eight years ago. Yeah." She pushed her chair back. "Gonna get the kids up now. Randy and Nick'll do the dishes, you cooked."

"I'm sorry," he said as she headed for the doorway, and she stopped. "I'm so sorry, Samantha, I didn't mean to…to bring up…" She turned around and nodded, her lips tight, brown eyes hard, not tearful.

"You didn't know. You was tryin' to make conversation, and tryin' to learn about us. I understand that. I ain't mad. Well, not at you. Just…this is how things are for us. That's why. Believe it or not, Oswald, we've lived a lot harder than this. This is comfortable for us. I've worked real hard, we've all worked real hard, to get to this point. It ain't perfect, but it's good for us."

"I understand. Again, though, I…I pushed too far. I'm sorry." 

"It's okay. I gotta get the others up though." And there she went, leaving him at the table. He pushed his own plate away now. Well, he'd wanted insight, hadn't he? And now he had it. Samantha's focus was the Pack. She was a caretaker, a warden of sorts, a guardian. Which was exactly what he needed right now. Her Pack would always come first, her siblings would always come first, he understood that, but she had extended her protection to him at least..at least in part. Enough to pray for him this morning, anyway, and her prayer had been…interesting. Well, Mother, if you're still looking out for me, look out for her, would you? She's trying very hard to take care of me.

The brothers came stumbling in through the doorway, interrupting his thoughts, and he moved out of their way just as Amy came in. "I was supposed to do breakfast this morning," she said, and he nodded.

"I thought I'd help."

"Oh," she said, looking around. "Okay."

"We got the dishes, Sammie done told us," Nick said as he picked up her plate from earlier, added eggs and bacon to it, toast. "Thanks, Mowgli."

"Not a problem. Where is she now? I need to ask her something."

"Uh, I think she's in her room, prolly makin' her bed. Everything okay?" Randy asked as he sat down.

"Yes. Or at least it will be." He had a plan. Yes. It should work, if she'd agree to it…if she'd take it. She might. She was very partial to her mountain, to ensuring her sibs' comfort. 

She came out of her room a few minutes later and went to the kitchen doorway. "Hey, y'all. Boys, we're gonna load up in thirty. Amy, you know what I want today. If y'all get done with the pantry, which you might, he's hell on wheels, you go get back on the root cellar and just do it, doll. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but I really do need it done."

"I know," Amy sighed. "No more bitchery, I'll do it."

"Good girl. Where's himself at --" she turned as she heard the cane tapping behind her. "Hey. If y'all get done with the pantry today, I done told Amy to go get started on the root cellar properly. The deep freezes are in the utility room, I need those gone through if you would, please. Anything more than six months old, anything looks freezerburned, toss in a trash bag, we'll haul it off tonight. Shouldn't be, but there might be."

"Is everything labeled?" 

"Yep. What it is and the date." He nodded. 

"Before you leave for the logging, may I speak with you privately? Just for a few minutes?" he asked, and she watched him swallow, realized he was nervous. 

"Sure. Randy, toss me my jacket," she called, and caught the heavy leather, handed it to him. "You wanna step outside? Most privacy we'll get." She led the way to the side door, glared at the others in the kitchen. "I hear a door open, I hear a window open, there'll be hell to pay," she warned the three before opening the door and going out to the porch, leading around to the front door. "What's up?"

"Two things. Money, first of all. If you can take me to Philadelphia, I can pick up one of my caches. I…more than enough, Samantha, to pay off the back taxes," he held out his best bit of bait. "Surely." 

"Back taxes is about thirty, still," she said, leaning against a post. "Close on it, anyway."

"Thirty? Thirty thousand?" he laughed. "Pocket change. I promise."

"I'll take y'word for it," she nodded. "I can come up with a road trip to Philly, sure, especially for something like that. That'd be…" she looked up at the rafters, trying not to cry. "That'd be a hell of a load off my back, Oswald. It would. And…Philly's in Pennsylvania, I bet they got decent choice laws, if --"

"I still need some time to think about that," he interrupted her. "Not much longer, I know I don't have much longer if it isn't too late already. Another few days. No, the second thing is…I want to stay. Please. Through the winter, at least…at least until spring. I can't imagine being around an Alpha right now. You are, of course, but you're…you're safe." He looked up at her, and she had to look away; pretty blue eyes, soft Omega, wrapped in her damn leathers, Jesus.

"I'm safe," she agreed. "Or at least, I wouldn't ever do such as that. Got a damn sight more honor. And if I should go into rut, the boys together can take me down, they've done it before. Got a place they'll chain me up --"

"No, surely not, that's inhumane," he began, and she shook her head.

"Alphas in rut are dangerous. I shouldn’t, I shouldn't be anywhere near it for a couple months yet, but I ain't never been around a pregnant Omega for long periods of time. I don't know. I don't know how the pheromones might affect me." 

"Are they affecting you yet?"

"Nope," she said. "Not so much. I'm real…protective, I got that goin' on, but that's about it."

"You'll let me know if that changes?"

"No. I'll have the boys chain me down in the root cellar, and they'll tell you." She shrugged. "Safe. That's the thing that runs through my head every damn time I look at you. Got to keep you safe. And I will. Including from myself, if necessary."

God, what was it with him and tears lately…"That's…that's…I should stop expecting you to be like everyone else, Samantha. I should. Because you keep surprising me. Anyway. I would like to stay through the winter, at least. Please. I'll pay you. I'm not sure exactly how much is in that cache, but it's somewhere between five and ten million, I'll give you half. Please, Samantha."

"Sweet Christ on his cross," she whispered, and was damn glad she was up against the post, because her knees dropped out from under her, and her butt hit the porch hard. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

"That's a drop in the bucket, Samantha, compared to what you deserve," he said, looking down at her now. "I'll triple that when I go home."

"Oh, fuck." She couldn't even think. "Jesus. Cash? You're talkin' cash money?"

"Cash now. Probably a check from one of the corporations later. Unless you'd prefer cash then." She tugged her sleeve up, raised her forearm to her mouth, and bit down, hard, hard enough that blood welled up around her mouth from her canines, looked back up at him with red ringing her lips.

"Okay. I ain't dreamin'. Jesus. Um. You ain't got to do that. I mean, payin' off the back taxes would be great, but swear to God, Oswald, you ain't got to do that. I done said you could stay. I done said you could stay long as you want." 

He took a deep breath, trying to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say. "As I said yesterday, Samantha, I can't repay you. I can't. Do you have any idea how hard it was? Any? Feeling my humanity slip away, day by day, my mental acuity, everything? Thinking, when I could think, that I would never be able to return to my life, to real life again? To be trapped inside the fur, to come to the conclusion, by that time, that I would die inside the fur, slowly, as the wolf took over. It was hell. I…what Ed did was a horrible, horrible thing, and I endured that, but the slow death of my personhood was worse. So much worse." He was weeping now, and didn't fight her as she rose and wrapped strong arms around him, rocking him back and forth, holding him close. He clutched at her, savior, guardian, protector.

"I don't know, you're right," she said at last, tears thick in her voice. "I have no idea. I'm so sorry, Oswald, I'm so sorry that that beast did that to you, I'm so sorry. I won't call him an Alpha, and I don't even want to call him a person. Him, that bastard, he ain't a person. He's a monster. Here's what you have to remember, though, honey. Tell you like I told Amy Beth, what I been tellin' her for years. You survived. You got through it. You are a person, you were a person when I found you, and you're still…hell, I can't say you're still you, 'cause I didn't know you before. But you're damn sure still a person." 

"Only because you found me," he sobbed. "Only because you found someone to make sure it was safe to break the collar, break the spell."

"But you're who held on, darlin'," she crooned. "You're who was still human enough to tell us things that first night. Still human enough to think, to spell letters out and all. You did that. I coulda broke the collar off your neck, but if you hadn't fought for your humanity, it wouldn't have done no good." She let go and backed off a step, to arm's length. "Look at me. Please." When he did, she said, "You saved your own self. You're a survivor, Oswald Cobblepot. Don't go thinkin' it was all me, or all the Pack. You saved your self, like, your self-identity or whatever. Okay?"

It took him another few seconds, another few moments, to nod. "Yes. Yes, okay. But don't…don't disparage what you did, Samantha. What the Pack did."

"I don't. But I ain't you, and I ain't God or the Feyrie, neither." She straightened. "Now. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as you get the wood done," he answered. "If possible."

"Oh, it's possible, and watch me get the boys to take the stick out of their asses. A day or two without Sammie here to ride us!" she laughed. "Now. Take a minute, take a few. I'm gonna go get started on my day." 

  
  


She waited until they were up on the mountain, unloaded the water, the chainsaws, before she stopped the boys. "I gotta talk to y'all, y'all sit down a minute," she said, pointing to the trailer. She waited for her litterbrothers to get comfortable before she spoke again. "Y'all figured out who Oswald is yet?"

"He's Mowgli?" Nick said. "Our…hell. He ain't Pack, but more than hunting grounds. We gotta come up with a name for that, Sis, that's like Eena and Kenny."

"Cousin," Randy suggested. "PackCousin."

"That works for now. Anyway, not the point. Y'all. He's the Penguin. From Gotham. The mobster." Both of her brothers looked at her as if she'd lost her mind before speaking.

"The hell, Sissy --" Randy began, Nick cutting him off.

"Fuck no. Fuck no, that little fucker? A goddamn mobster, are you kidding me?"

"-- are you serious, this could be dangerous," Randy went on, and Sam shook her head.

"I don't think so. First off, he's a long damn way from home, and right now, he's so traumatized he don't want to go back home. I don't think he even wants to call home yet, he ain't said nothin' about it. No, he's the Penguin, all right. And he wants…he asked if he could spend the winter. Offered me a lot of money to let him, a lot of damn money, enough money that we could live up here the rest of our lives and never fuckin' worry again. With more comin' once he does go home."

"How much is a lot of money, and what's he got to do to get it?" Randy asked.

"I gotta take him to Philadelphia. He said he's got a hoard there. And somewhere between two and a half and five million dollars, he said he's got between five and ten in it, offered me half." Both the brothers paled under their deep tans, even Nick speechless for once. 

"Mary Mother of God," Randy said at last. "Cash?"

"Cash."

"You said yes, right?" Nick said. "You did, didn't you, Sam? That much, we won't ever have to go back out again, we would, we'd be set up for life, Sis, tell me you said yes."

"I said yes," she said, nodding. "I ain't stupid, LitterBrother. Thing is, and he agreed, we've got to get the wood done before I leave. Now I don't know how long we'll be gone, probably not more than a few days, but there's more that needs done while I'm gone, and I'm gonna trust y'all to get it done before I get back. Randy'll be in charge --"

"Wait. Why just you and him?" Nick asked. "Why not the family? Why not the Pack?"

"I just said," Sam replied. "We get the wood done, fine, great, we still need the pipes wrapped, need the plastic put up over the windows, need to know how many little propane tanks we've got, need the big tank filled, need to know if the electric and the propane heaters still work and if they don't, I need to know so we can replace them. And on top of that," she hesitated, "on top of that, if he's staying the winter, if he decides to keep the babies, which he ain't decided yet, we need Mama and Daddy's room cleaned out."

"No," Nick said, shaking his head. "No. We're not putting him, we're not putting babies, in Mama and Daddy's room."

"Nicky, it's the biggest bedroom, it makes the most sense," Sam said. "At least two babies, probably more, Amy said. He's gonna need the room."

"No. They -- no. I'll bunk in with Randy. He can have my room," Nick said. "Meth fumes and shit, Sam. And…and other shit. You know. Influences." He shuddered. "Do you want one of them babies to wake up sometime and see Mama leanin' over them? Or him, do you want him to see the…the...the last fight while he's carryin'?"

"Shit, you're right," Sam answered. "You're right, no. I don't -- Jesus." She shivered. "Fuck, did I forget my jacket?" She thought back. "I did. I did, it's okay, I know where it is."

"Yep, wrapped around him," Nick said, low toned. "I saw him on the porch as we left, wearing it still."

"He ain't got one. Needed it," Samantha said. "It's safe at least, I didn't forget it up here or anything."

"Yep. Anyway, so you were saying, Sam?" Randy said. 

"So as I was saying, I don't figure we'll be gone too long, maybe a couple days, no longer than three, I think. I'll take Mystery, leave y'all the truck. And so long as the pipes get wrapped and the plastic gets up, those are the two most important things, I won't bitch too much about the rest, we can catch that up when I get back, hell, I can do most of that my own self. But I can't go, I can't get the money, till we get this wood done. I'd like to go this weekend. Get it done, get back."

"Did he say where? I'm trying to think…do you remember the movie Casino? The safe deposit box? It might be a safe deposit box, if that's the case, you won't be able to get to it till Monday mornin'," Nick said, and Sam nodded. 

"I do, and I figure that's where it is. But I ain't askin'. That'd be rude."

"Right," Randy agreed. "And he wants to stay here for the winter? Why, Sammie?" 

"He's.." she squatted down. "He's scared of…of another Alpha doing the tone thing again, y'all. Scared, bad scared. And honest, I can't blame him. We know what happens, we know, especially since Amy. I hope…I hope him and her get to talkin', so he can see that you can get over it, but…yeah. He asked at least the winter. I reckon there's a possibility he might ask for longer after. Especially if he has the pups, y'all."

"Sis, if he does, if he does, we gotta get a trailer up here or we gotta add on to the house, seriously," Nick said. "There just ain't room for all of us and two, three more people. Even if they are babies."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Sam said. "But I wanted to let y'all know, seriously now, we got to get this cord done by Friday afternoon. We got to. There's a pot of damn gold at the end of the rainbow." She took a deep breath. "So. What do y'all have to say?"

"Uh, let's get started?" Nick said, shouldering his chainsaw. "Sooner begun, sooner done, to steal your line, Sis?" 

"Hi hooooooooo!" Randy shouted, stealing the line from the seven dwarves, and laughter rang down the mountain, right before the echoes of chainsaws.

"Why you?" Randy asked at mid-morning break, while Sammie was trying to figure how much more for the day. "Why you, why not me or Nick? Or both of us?" She took a drink of water, considered the question.

"I reckon it's because I'm Alpha, but I'm safe Alpha. He said something about that, that I was safe." She snorted. "I ain't real sure about that."

"Come walk with me a minute," Randy said, looking over at Nick, laying down in the back of the truck. The two, Alpha and Chief Beta, walked up the road a few minutes, listening to the birds call, Sam pointing out some deer sign as they went, until Randy stopped her. "You ain't gettin' attached. He's barely been two foot for three days, ain't been able to talk but for one."

"His scent, Randy," Sammie finally admitted, desperate to tell someone. "Goddamn, but he smells so good. And even four foot, he…he would try to tell us things, he helped out, he was…wasn't cheerful, but there was something. Something. I don't know. I'm not attached. I'm not gonna get…not gonna lose my head. I know who he is, I know he'll leave eventually, I know better. My heart's still locked in its box. I promise."

"It may be locked in its box, but I know you, Sam. It's starting to beat again," Randy said. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. I agree, there's something about him, I don’t want to see him get hurt, either." He hesitated, then asked, "Just for shits and grins? What's he smell like to you?"

Her eyes closed, and her knees bent as she grinned wide. "Lord. Sweet cinnamon, like cinnamon rolls, or cinnamon coffee cake. I bet it goes hot in heat, sweet Christ." Her eyes glowed gold for a second when she opened them, before she sobered. "I know it's a bad idea. I know, believe me I know. But I'd court. I'd court in a sweet hot second if," she pinned her brother with her gaze, "if he weren't traumatized, for one thing. And if I thought I stood a chance. Reckon there's a thousand Alphas back in Gotham that'd give their eyeteeth for him, if he weren't so desperate to pass, and every last damn one -- well. Without marks." She kicked at the ground. 

"Sis. You got a pretty face and a prettier heart, and he could sure do hella worse than you," Randy said, and Sammie laughed.

"Make up y'mind, little brother. One second you're warnin' me off, the next you're almost encouraging me," she said. 

"Well hell, if it'd make you happy and keep you from --" Randy shut his mouth. They were in the open, far from anything that might protect them from the Shining Folk.

"I get you. Yeah, I get you," Sammie said, her eyes narrowing. "It ain't gonna happen. I don't know that it'd be healthy for him, for one thing. For another…well. Like I said. But this ain't getting the work done. Come on." She started to head back down to the work site, stopped by his hand on her arm.

"Be careful. Follow your heart and your instincts, Sam, but be careful. That's all I'm saying."

"Heart ain't got nothin' to do with it," she insisted. "New face, pretty face, smells good. It's all instinct. And I'm more than my instincts. Now come on, I reckon we might have made up for yesterday."

"Hey, sis," he said, just to poke at her, "you know that apple tree behind Granny and Granddaddy's old place?"

"Yeah," she said as she walked. "I know it. What about it?"

"It should be getting ripe here soon. He likes apples, you can tell, the way he slathers apple butter on biscuit. Want to knock off a few minutes early? Go check on it?" She shot him a dirty, dirty look.

"You ain't right, Randy, and don't you tease me."

"Aww, Sissy, what are LitterBrothers for?" He punched her, lightly, in the arm. "Let's go get it done."

  
  


It was quiet for the first hour in the pantry. Amy worked on the outside wall, he on the inside, both of them unsure, uneasy, after the day before. He was still resentful, too, because she had left him to do this work while she had basically gone to hide in the garage, much like others before her had left the same type of work to him while they got high behind the dumpsters. Just because he didn't, just because he chose to speak more clearly and try to learn, to try to better himself…but, he reminded himself, Amy had been kind up until the day before. So while he was determined not to be the first to speak, he would try to be companionable if she did. Still, when she did break the silence, it made him jump.

"Well, this is going to be just as boring as doing it by myself if we don't talk, Mowgli," she said at last. 

"So sorry I'm not more entertaining," he replied, and winced at his own words. "Sorry."

"It's okay. So you're from New Jersey? Where?" He turned and looked at her. Really?

"Gotham," he replied before counting the jars of…"Oh my God, you eat this? Really? I'm sorry, that's disgusting."

"What?" She came and looked where he pointed. "Oh. Sometimes the boys do. Sammie and I both think squirrel brains are gross, too."

"What..what do…ugh." 

"Scrambled eggs. Make sure if the boys make scrambled eggs you eat out of the blue ceramic bowl, not the red. Yeah, we make them can'em, too." She patted his shoulder. "See? We're not complete heathens."

"No, of course not, it's just…that's a little much."

"Granddaddy would eat calf brains and eggs, and Granny liked to eat chicken hearts," she shrugged as she went back to her own shelf. 

"Well, hearts, that's one thing, but brains. Ugh." 

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?" She asked.

"Why?"

"Just making conversation."

"Lutefisk. Once. Never, never again," he shuddered.

"What in the world is that?" she asked. "It even sounds gross."

"Dried cod soaked in lye. Yes, lye."

"Why? For God's sake, why?"

"Manners. I had to, I was at a meeting with a colleague who was…rather…eccentric." More than that, but Amy didn't seem to know who he was. "What about you?"

"Hogshead cheese. So you outdid me there." She sighed and turned around to look at his back. "Hey. I'm really sorry about yesterday."

"Are you? Or are you just sorry Samantha lost her temper?"

"She didn't," Amy said. "She came close, but she didn't. When Sammie really loses her temper, really, truly loses it, her hands go wolf and her fangs drop. She can't help it. Her eyes turn red, too, and they didn't yesterday. So she was close, yes. But not…not past the point of no return. But I don't think you have to worry about that." 

"I doubt it myself. Only family have the ability to truly madden someone." He took a deep breath, remembering how Mother used to enrage him. 

"That's not true," Amy disagreed. "Don't you have Pack back in Gotham? Haven't you ever lost your temper with Pack?"

"I…not like you do. No." No. He wasn't close with anyone anymore, not as he had been. Too busy. Always too busy, since James had gotten the promotion and hadn't been able to call or visit as much as he once had. Since James had gotten married, and he had finally killed that unrequited crush. 

"You're lone?"

"I have been. Most of my life," he gave in. "I usually prefer it."

"I'm sorry," Amy said, and he turned around to look at her.

"Why? I prefer it --"

"Because Pack is…Pack. Pack are people who will support you, stand beside you and behind you, even when they're mad at you. Pack bond is something that can't be broken. Even…even by tone. I know." He froze at the word, and Amy went on quickly, "My husband. Did that. Kevin. He…he liked to share. I was under tone for over a year."

"No," he said, turning around to face her, seeing tears in her eyes. "No, you don't have to tell me, Amy. No."

"I do, though. I just…if you need to talk about it. I understand. I understand more than the boys or Sammie would. Sammie would listen, and she would try to understand, she would try really hard, but she wants to kill the man who hurt you like she killed Kevin."

He looked at what they'd done, looked at her. "Will Samantha be upset if we don't finish today? Because we can, but I have the distinct impression that if we start talking about these things that we'll both be…wiped out by the time we're done."

"Why do you just call her Samantha? And no. She wants it done by the end of the week, but she'll be the first to say that people are more important, Pack's more important, than the work." He grimaced. "What?"

"I'm not Pack, Amy."

"Closer than you think, I think," she said, and put her notebook down. "I'll put on water for tea. We'll take a tea break and talk, and if we can't keep at it after, then I'll handle Sammie." She stepped past him, careful not to jostle. 

"Samantha is more feminine," he said as he followed her. "More respectful." Amy giggled.

"Sammie's not feminine," she said. "Sammie was a Marine. Alpha Battalion, she's seen more action, killed more people…and she never was feminine, she never even went to prom."

"I don’t see how that's relevant," he said. He hadn't gone to his own, either. 

"Sammie could outshoot, outrun, and out fight most of the boys in her graduating class," Amy said. "Intimidated them. And the scars didn't help."

"Samantha is lovely, and obviously they were all blind or foolish. I assume both."

"Oh, she dated, she dated Ronnie Allen for about two years, but he got…he got what he wanted and went and told the whole damn school about her scars. Bastard. We sugared his gas tank, me and the boys did, for that. I ran interference." She smiled, sweet and innocent, eyes wide, and he recognized that pose. From the mirror. "But that ain't telling you about Kevin."

"No. It's not, and you don't have to, Amy, you don't --"

"No, I should," she insisted as she turned the stove on. "I should because you need to know this. You're a survivor. Whatever happened to you, you made it through it, and they didn't break you. Kevin came too close to breaking me." She took a seat across from him and folded her hands. "I met Kevin when I was twenty. He put me under tone on our fourth date, Oswald. Married me the next day, he had a judge friend who was also an Alpha, turned a blind eye to it."

"My God." Thank Christ Edward hadn't thought of that, thank you God, thank you…

"Oh, it gets better," she said wryly. "Six weeks after that, I was in my first porn video. All the time under, all the time, he was good at it, so very good at making me go under. It was…comforting, after a while. If I was under, I was obedient, he wouldn't get angry at me." She took a deep breath. "Before him, I wrote Sammie and the brothers every week, I couldn't every day, but every week. Letters stopped. Sammie started to get worried, and then she heard I was dishonorably…" Her eyes welled up with tears. "Dishonorably discharged. For conduct unbecoming. One of my COs saw one of the videos, recognized me." She leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling for a few minutes, took several more deep breaths, before continuing.

"Sammie finagled her way into emergency leave, I still don't know how or who she had to fuck to get it, she was in the sandbox. Overseas, in a battle battalion, she'd already spent over eight months in the hospital for her -- I can't tell you about that. She…I guess she rotated right back into line after she got out of the hospital, and she had leave coming. She got emergency leave and she came to find me, the last place she knew I'd been was California. She hunted me for six weeks by herself, she was running out of time. And that's when she called Smith to help her."

"Who is that? I've heard the name, he's Samantha's friend of sorts?"

"Of sorts," Amy winked. "She met him when she was a little girl, that's another story I can't tell. But he told her then that if she needed him, all she had to do was lay a broken piece of metal down on the ground and call his name three times. So she did. She offered him six mortal months in his service, in whatever capacity he desired, if he would help her find me."

"Broken metal…" he mused. Smith. "Weyland? Weyland the Smith? Samantha's his…concubine?"

"From time to time," Amy nodded. "When it suits her. He's a married…hell, he's not a man, he's not a Feyrie. He's married, anyway. They have an arrangement, and I think they're fond of one another, but it's more friends with benefits than anything else."

"Have you met him?" Oswald asked, curious. "Does he really limp?"

"I have," Amy nodded. "He brought us home after Sammie killed Kevin. And he does, yes. Right leg. Like you." He looked down, blushing a little that he'd been so obvious. "The story tells that both his legs were hamstrung, but I guess it was just the one. Anyway, so she called on him and made the deal. He can…wherever there's crafted metal, I think is how it works, he can see through it. He can hear through it, and iron doesn't stop him because it's his toy. He saw me, and he took Sammie to me. We were in New Orleans by then, and I remember, I remember the streets, I remember the cemetery. I don't…by then I had started blocking a lot. I remember someone ringing the doorbell, and Kevin answering it. He opened the door, and I remember seeing Sammie's claw grab his face and pick him up, her claws deep in his face, deep, and he was dangling two feet off the ground and he was almost as tall as Granddaddy." 

The tea kettle shrieked behind her, and she got up, poured them both a cup of Darjeeling, brought it to the table. "She stepped through the door, closed it behind her, and she asked me where the bathroom was. She carried him in there, and the next thing I heard was a horrible, horrible nasty gurgling sound, and when she came out, her mouth was bloody. She came out, and it was right about then, I guess, that he died. That the link between us, the tone, broke, because I could see her. I could see where I was and I could remember too much of what I'd done." 

Amy sipped her tea, her hands shaking so that she could hardly hold the cup. "She told me to get anything I wanted to keep, that she was taking me home. And I said, Kevin won't let me go home. And she smiled. I never want to see that smile on my sister's face again, please God, not that one, not the hunter's smile. She smiled, and she said, "Baby girl, Kevin is no more. He's an ex-parrot." And I laughed. I remember laughing, and laughing, and not being able to stop, until she had me at a motel, until she got two Xanax down my throat." She laughed, a little wildly. "And right now I am wishing I had another."

"Right now I wish you did too," he said, gingerly reaching for her hand. "Are you all right?"

"I will be, I just, I just have to finish," she said, wiping her eyes. "So. So Sammie left me at the motel, and I think Smith watched over me so she could clean up. I don't know. Someone was there. I know someone was there. She told me later she…she told me everything, you have to understand that, because I needed to know. I needed to know what happened, I needed, I still wake up and climb in bed with her and have her tell me all over again some nights, I needed to know that Kevin wasn't coming back. That he would never, ever come back again." She smiled, weakly. "And he won't. She butchered him, joint by joint, and took what…took it…took it to the swamp and dumped it out for the alligators."

"Jesus," he said again, leaning back. 

"And that's what she wants to do to the man who hurt you," Amy went on, a little easier. "And she can. I promise, it doesn't matter who it is, it doesn't matter how strong or how powerful. She can."

"I…I believe she would try," he said. "But the man who…my attacker is an extremely intelligent psychopath. And I don't…Samantha saved me, Amy, I can't think of her bleeding out in the street, it --"

"She wouldn't," Amy said quickly. "I promise you, she wouldn't, because…because Sammie's really, really special. Really special. I can't tell you, I can't. That's hers. So long as he isn't a Feyrie Lord, Oswald, she can kill him."

"He's not. He…God. He was my friend. I thought he was my friend, Amy, and I have so few, so very few people…" Thunder cracked overhead, the lights went out, and rain began to pound on the sheet metal roof above them. They both jumped, hard, and Amy tried to laugh before getting up.

"They'll be coming back in a few minutes, I guess," she said. "It's not safe to cut wood in the rain, wet wood makes the saw slip. I'll get the lamps lit, and then, if you want, we can get back to work. I don't think you want to tell yours in front of anybody else right now."

"No," he agreed, "I don't." He stood up, too, wincing.

"Thing is, Sammie…I don’t think you're ever gonna have to be afraid of Sammie. She'd rather have both hands chopped off at the wrist than ever hurt one of us. Rather have her tongue pulled out than use…use tone inappropriately. So don't you worry that she'd ever hurt you."

"Oh, no," he said, surprise coloring his voice. "No, Samantha…I'm not afraid of Samantha, not that way. No, I trust her."

"Good. 'Cause she…she may raise her voice and holler, she may knock us all down a peg or two like yesterday, but she does it because she loves us, and she wants to make sure we're safe. Raksha's paws are heavy, but she doesn't claw," Amy joked as she took old oil lamps from under the kitchen sink, placed one on the kitchen table and lit the wick. Golden light spilled forth, and she looked at the dark pantry, looked back at the lamp. "To be honest, I'm not sure it's safe…it's pretty close quarters…I'll wait for Sammie, ask her what she wants us to do."

"Amy," he said. "Thank you. I…I appreciate your sharing your…experience."

"You needed to know. You're not the only person being Omega ever meant a bad thing for." Amy shrugged. "Besides. Omega need to stick together, don't we?"

"I suppose we do," he answered. The sound of the truck passing the house made them both look up toward the back door. 

"Why don't you start some tea for Sam and the boys, I'll get them some towels," Amy suggested, and he nodded. By the time he heard their voices, the kettle sang, and Amy met them on the porch with towels and dry clothes. 

"Y'all are gonna catch your death," he heard Amy say, laughing, and Samantha answered her.

"Little rain never kilt nobody. It's good for you," she laughed back. "Reminds us we're alive."

"Yeah, but that's why God invented umbrellas, Sammie," Amy called back, and Samantha just laughed.

"I can't keep up with such as that. Ain't no call for it. It's just water, for the love of Christ." Thunder boomed overhead again, and she shouted. "Okay, and a little noise. Shit. Hand me that towel, Amy Beth," she said, walking past the screen door just to the edge of the porch, facing away from the house, toward the side yard while the boys went to the other end of the porch to dry off, too.

"If you'd keep one in the truck --"

"I don't need a damn umbrella," Sam told her sister, still laughing. "The hell do you take me for, a tame wolf?" She toweled her hair from soaked to damp, pulled the dripping flannel from her shoulders and tossed it on one of the back porch benches before tugging her tee shirt off, her cami, and drying herself as best she could, toeing her boots off, wriggling out of her wet jeans with difficulty. "Did you bring me a new cami, Amy?"

"Of course. Here you go." Amy handed her a cotton camisole to wear instead of a bra; the scars on her shoulders were irritated by bra straps. "You think it's gonna keep raining today?"

"Think it might. Smells like it. That's okay, though, I think we were just about finished dropping trees anyway, and I gotta talk to you here in a minute. How are y'all doin'?"

"We were taking a break when the storm broke," Amy said, telling the truth, just not quite all of it. "Sammie. I told him about Kevin." Sam's head popped around to look at her sister. 

"All of it?"

"All of it."


	2. Part 2

"You okay? You need puppy pile, anything?"

"Can I take Nick to the garage and get into the blue box?" Amy asked, and Sam nodded. 

"Here after a while. How'd he take it?"

"Sympathetic," Amy said after a second. "He got it, anyway. That…that I know."

"Sure. Figured," Sam said as she pulled a fresh flannel over her ragged Harley tee. "I reckon I'm gonna see if he wants to go to town here after while, get some clothes. I'll take Randy with me. You can hang out with Nicky then, okay? And y'all are done till the lights come back on, I don't want an oil lamp in the pantry, that's just beggin' for trouble."

"I figured. Okay, that sounds good," Amy said, and started to walk away before Sam took her hand. 

"Good on you, Amy. Well done, baby sister." Amy smiled and kissed Sam's cheek before heading for the door, while Sam tugged dry jeans over still damp skin. "Y'all take anything out for supper?" Sam called.

"No, not yet, it's not even noon yet," Amy said at the screen door.

"Don't. We'll pick something up in town. Pizza?"

"Pizza, oh God, Sammie, pizza, please," Nick begged from the other side of the porch. "We ain't had pizza in a month."

"Closer to six weeks. Okay by me if it's okay by everybody else," Sam said. She left her clothes to drip dry some, picked up her boots, and went inside, leaving them by the woodstove as she passed it by, going to her room to put on dry socks and her motorcycle boots instead. She came back out with her holster on her hip, .45 strapped in it, and leaned on the hallway doorway as she watched Amy putting the lamps out. "Amy Beth, where's Oswald?"

"Huh. I don't know," Amy answered. "He was makin' y'all some tea when I took the clothes out."

"Cool." Sam opened the woodstove, poked at the burning logs and loaded it up again before heading back to the back door to look for the Betas. They were still out there, half dressed, talking. "Randy, you got any problems with my plan for the afternoon? We really do need to get him some clothes."

"Nope, I'm good with it, especially if there's going to be pizza. But Sissy…he's not a Wal-Mart person. Not at all," Randy said, and Sam nodded.

"No, I reckon we're goin' to Pennys. Best I can do, best I can afford right now. Nicky, come inside and see if you can find some shoes he might can wear to town, we'll get him new ones there." She stepped away from the screen door to the counter, picked up the purple cup of tea, sipped at it, added just a pinch more of sugar before taking it to the living room and sitting down in her chair to wait. 

  
  
  


No, no, no, no, no. No. He shouldn't have looked, he shouldn't have, he told himself as he ran cold water over his wrists in the bathroom. No. That was horribly inappropriate. Ogling Samantha was inappropriate, she was his host, she wasn't…she was a person, she'd been kind, she'd saved his life, for God's sake, she wouldn't have appreciated it. She wouldn't. Even if it was just her back (what had left those scars on her back, dark thick lines scoring down and to the sides?). She especially wouldn't have appreciated that, knowing that he'd seen those, she was very self-conscious about them, obviously. Randy had said so, Amy had intimated so. 

They were apparently all still on the porch as he went into Amy's room, just for a minute, just to recover himself. He shouldn't have, he shouldn't have looked, he shouldn't have done that, she had saved his life, she was a person, but she'd just…just so free, he thought as he laid across Amy's bed. She was so free, so different, than other women he'd known. Much like Selina that way. No, not tame. Not tame at all. He waited ten minutes, heard her ask about him, before finally getting up again to find her in her chair, tuning her guitar. Packing. She was packing, why?

"Hey, sugar," Samantha said as she put her guitar down. "Today's plans are shot to hell, I done called the power company, the recording said we wouldn't get power back for at least a couple hours. You want to go to town with me and Randy, get some clothes that fit?"

"Can you afford it?" He asked, and she nodded. "Then yes, please."

"Cool. Nicky found some shoes that ought to do for now, we'll take care of that, too. Is it -- hell. Gonna ask you a question that's prolly gonna piss you off, Oswald, but I need to know. Is it gonna be too hard for you to climb up in the truck? 'Cause we can take my car if we need to." 

"No," he said. "It doesn't upset me, Samantha. Thank you for thinking of it. I don't think so, but to be honest, it's not something I would want to do every day."

"Cool," she answered. "I don't like takin' my car to town, damn tourists don't know how to drive or how to keep their damn hands to themselves."

"Yeah, but you're taking it to Philly in a couple days, right?" Nick asked from the kitchen.

"Yep. Gonna hit Philadelphia freedom in style, y'all. Still yet, the goddamn tourists are down for the fall colors, I ain't takin' her to Crossville or Gatlinburg till January, swear to God, between the Christmas to-do and the colors, we ain't gonna be rid of the damn cockroaches til then," Sammie said as she stood. She started to move, hesitated, shrugged. Unbuckled her belt and slid the sheath of the knife she always wore off of it, when Randy clambered to his feet.

"Wait, Sammie," he said, digging in his pocket and pulling out a handful of change. He scrounged through it until he found a dime, and handed it to Oswald. "Here. You can't give a knife, silver's got to change hands, or else it'll sever the friendship."

"I've never heard that," he said as he took the knife from Samantha, pulled it free of the sheath to admire it. "This is lovely work. It feels…it shouldn't be as balanced as it is, not with the horn handle…" The blade shone in the lamp light, a full six inches long, with a white horn handle that wasn't quite smooth in his hand. 

"Be surprised," Sam said. "Antler. It's antler handle. How's it feel?" He hefted it, slid it back in the sheath before he answered her.

"Really good. It feels very, very good in my hand, thank you." She nodded.

"Glad to help you feel a little better. Let's get around, y'all, daylight's wastin'. Nicky, bring the shoes you found." 

"Are you expecting trouble, Samantha?" He asked as he slid the knife into his pocket, and she laughed.

"I'm always expectin' trouble, sugar, that's how I avoid it. Tennessee's an open carry state, so I damn well carry. Randy's packin', too. Only reason you ain't is because we ain't seen you shoot, you don't know our patterns." 

  
  


He was fine, he told himself as they entered the store, Randy ahead of him, Samantha behind. He was fine. This was…a pathetic selection, in reality, but it was what she could afford, it was generous, in fact, as he could tell that there was a huge difference in quality between what Randy and Samantha were wearing and what was available here. They likely shopped at secondhand stores and Target, she was trying. And he was fine. 

Until the strange Alpha entered the store twenty minutes later. He could smell them, scent them, and he began to tremble, Randy beside him notwithstanding. Samantha had gone to look at something else. 

"You okay?" Randy asked, and he tried to say yes. Tried. How was he going to do anything like this, how was he going to be able to get the money in a few days if he couldn't even go shopping because he was --

"Hey, Mowgli," Samantha said from behind him, a heavy weight slipping over his shoulders suddenly, her jacket, warm and smelling of her. "There you go, sweetheart. Jimmy McDonald wouldn't hurt you. He wouldn't dare, he went to school with us and I kicked his balls up between his shoulder blades a few times too many behind the cafeteria." 

"Oh Hell, Jimmy Mack? No. He wouldn't hurt nobody," Randy agreed. 

"You just get what you need, darlin', I'm sorry, I went to look at the glitters real quick. I'm back now," Samantha promised. "I won't leave again."

"Glitters?" he asked, finally able to turn and look at her.

"Yeah, pretty shit. Pennys always has nice pretty stuff," she said, looking at the floor. "I don't know why I even look, I always break it or lose it, but I still look." She was…was she blushing? "I know better. Mountain's too tough on baubles."

"There you go again," he said. "Using words I haven't ever heard in real life. Such a vocabulary, Samantha." Now she was definitely blushing, the red spreading down her face to her neck. 

"Ain't no call to tease, Mowgli," she said after a moment. 

"Not teasing. I mean that, who uses box your ears or baubles these days? I find it…endearing," he said, and watched her turn an even deeper red.

"Yeah, well. I read a lot," she said after a moment. 

He was three clothing racks over when he heard, "Lord God, Sammie," Randy sighed, exasperated. "Please learn how to flirt someday. Please." Her fist shot out and caught her brother's shoulder without her ever having to lift her head.

"Learn how to mind y'own damn business, and I'll consider it," she said when she did look up. "Besides, he wasn't flirtin' with me. Just talkin'."

"If you say so," he heard Randy say. Had he been flirting? Perhaps unconsciously. Yes. Unconsciously, that was it. 

Everything was fine until they stopped to get gas on the way home, the pizza still hot in its boxes in the back seat beside him, until Randy groaned. "Oh, hell. Stay in the fuckin' truck, Sam."

"Why?" she asked, looking up from her phone. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, best if I do. Can we make it home for now and come back later?"

"It's already flashing."

"Hell. Just get five dollars worth then, and I'll come back down with Nicky later," she said, putting her phone away and crawling between the seats to come sit next to him, close enough their sides touched. "Sorry, Oswald, I don't mean to crowd, but it's just best if some people don't see me. They ought not to start shit with Randy, but if they see me, they'll come bug us."

"It's fine. Who is it? Why?"

"Ronnie Allen and his brother Dave. Ancient history that some folks can't move past is all," she said, actually sliding down from the seat to the floor, drawing her long legs up to her chest. "Five bucks worth, Randy."

"Yep, that's the plan." Randy got out of the truck, leaving the pair of them sitting in the back.

"They're not a threat," he said, for lack of anything else to say, and she grinned.

"No, I can take both of them with one hand tied behind my back. That's not the point. The point is I don't want to fight'em. I just want to get you home, get the food home. I've had a pretty good day today, and I don't want two of the Allen boys to ruin that." The door locks slid shut, and she sighed. "But it looks like that's not gonna happen."

"Come down off the mountain, son? I thought all y'all just stayed up there all the time," he heard someone say.

"Hi, Dave."

"How's your sisters? I ain't seen the little one in a long time, she's broke, right? So all the Omega sweet without no rugrats?"

"Lord Jesus," Sammie whispered, "keep your hand on my shoulder, please." Her canines dropped, her jaw half-elongated. Her nails had lengthened somewhat, though not into full claws yet, as the drunk spoke again.

"And then your other sister, she ain't half bad, my brother says, but you gotta do it in the dark or else y'lose your lunch." She gripped her elbows, pulled her arms tighter around her knees. "Is it true she ain't got no right tit no more?" Her face dropped to her knees now, her forehead pressing tight there. "Of course who could tell, ain't like she had a decent chest to begin with." 

"David, I'm sure you could ask her sometime. I'm not sure you'd be able to ever ask anyone else anything ever again afterwards, but you could ask her," Randy said as he took the gas nozzle out, replaced the cap. "Whyn't you go see if your brothers want to fuck, they might be nice and give you a reacharound tonight." He unlocked the door and had closed it again by the time Dave caught up to him. He turned the key, drove out of the lot and down the road about a mile before pulling into another parking lot. "Sam. You okay?"

" 'M fine." She said, her face still in her knees. "I'm fine. Get us home."

"You did the right thing, Sammie, you did. The other four were in the store, they sent Dave over on purpose, Ronnie was watchin'."

"Between the two of us, we'd have been fine, LitterBrother," she mumbled.

"Three," she heard from above her, looking up to see him staring stone faced ahead, his eyes a dark, dark blue, so dark they were almost black. "Uncouth."

"Not while you're carryin', darlin'," she said, patting his knee. "I appreciate the thought, though."

"Don't let the words of a drunken hooligan hurt you, Samantha," he said, still looking forward. 

"Oh, sugar. I'm a beat to shit Jarhead who bled for his right to say whatever he likes. And he does. All six of them do." She sighed. "I'm still tryin' to figure out why I dated Ronnie for two years."

"Hormones and pure damn stubborn," Randy said as he signaled to pull out again. "Now tell why you ended it."

"No."

"Yes. Tell why you ended it, Sam. Or I will." She remained stubbornly silent, her head falling into her knees again, so Randy looked up in the rearview, caught Oswald's gaze waiting there for him. "The Allen brothers share. Everything. And Sammie didn't like that idea too much."

"And I broke his arm."

"And she broke his arm when he tried to talk her into it," Randy agreed. "And in return, he started running his mouth, and he ain't never stopped, and the other five ain't never stopped, and it's been almost twenty years. And they still try to mess with us."

"They'll run into somebody who don't care to go to jail sometime," Samantha said from the truck floor. "Me, I got too much to do to go to jail over a half-dozen peckerwoods who keep living in the past." She got up into a crouch. "Sorry for crowding you, again," she said as she moved back to the front seat.

"You didn't." 

  
  


She skipped dinner and stayed in her room for over an hour after they returned, curling up on her bed and pulling her pillow to her stomach as silent tears fell. Damn but she wished he hadn't heard that. Anything but that. When she did get up, she went out on the porch, looking out at the slowly falling night, listening to the rain patter on the tin roof and on the leaves of the oak trees that stood guard around the house. 

"Sammie?" Amy said from behind her. "Sammie, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said without turning around. "What's up, doll baby?"

"Nicky told me what you told them this morning. Is it real, Sam?" She drew in a deep breath and turned to face her little sister.

"Yep. It's real. So y'all need to get along, 'cause he's gonna be our guest through the winter, doll," she smiled. "And if he decides to keep the babies, I need you to help me take care of him. I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies, Miz Scarlett!"

"You ain't right, Sam," Amy laughed. "And I like him okay. I can get along."

"You best. You're my baby sister and I love you, but I know how you can be, little miss."

"Yeah, and I know how you can be, too," Amy said. "Maybe I ought to warn him."

"About what? I'm the nicest, sweetest Alpha this side of the Mississippi," Sammie said, trying to imitate Amy's angelic expression.

"Yeah, and butter wouldn't melt. No, I'll get along, I'll brush up on stuff if that's the case. You're okay, though?"

"Yeah. I'm okay."

"Randy told us y'all ran into Dave Allen," she said, and watched her older sister wince. "I wish you hadn't."

"That damn sure makes two of us. But fuck them, fuck all of'em, I ain't got time to study on their skanky asses. I'm gonna get my guitar and relax a while. Was there enough pizza for everybody?"

"Yep. Put some back for you, too, well, Oswald did." 

"Well that was mighty nice of him," Sam said as she opened the screen door, pulled her guitar from its stand beside it. The boys were playing cards. Amy was with her. Where was he? She shrugged. It had been a long day, maybe he'd gone to bed. She sure wouldn't blame him if that were the case. She settled in her chair, kicked her boot up on the fire pit. "Out in the west Texas town of El Paso, I fell in love with a Mexican girl…."

"Big Iron next," Randy called through the door as Sammie sang of the doomed love between a cowboy and a dancer. "Hey, Mowgli. How's real clothes feel?" He asked as Oswald came out of the bedroom, and Amy gasped as she came back in, the screen door slamming behind her.

"Oh, my God. I thought Nick was lyin'."

Not a full suit, no. Not appropriate, and it would have cost too much right now for her, he was sure. But the dress shirt and black slacks apparently were close enough for Amy to see who he was now, and he smiled indulgently. "Lying about what?"

"Who you was. Are, I mean. Holy hell."

"That can't be comfortable, can't be warm," Nick said from his place on the couch. "Tell me y'all got mountain type gear, too. Stuff like what we wear."

"Yes, of course," he rolled his eyes. 

"Leave him be, Nicky," Randy said. "Let the man wear what he wants, let him be." 

"Just one more kiss, and Felina….good-bye…" Sammie sang from the porch before shouting through the door. "Big Iron next, right?"

"Yep, that's a go," Randy said as he discarded. "And then the Corb Lund song that sounds like him, Devil's Best Dress."

"Jesus Christ, I'm gonna put a hat out and just fuckin' busk, you keep makin' requests," she grumbled, but she began the quick intro anyway, and began to sing, the siblings joining on the repeating lines at the end of each verse. Then she began the second song, and it seemed, listening to her, that she was singing of herself. 

"Really, Samantha," he said as he came out on the porch. "When I do go home, you must come and play at my club sometime." The shock on her face when she saw him thrilled him, and he didn't know why, but it felt good. He would theorize, would dissect the emotion, later. 

"I…I ain't good enough for such as that," she said, swallowing, Jesus Christ on his cross but he looked good right now, looked almost like in the newspapers even. 

"I disagree," he said as he sat down across from her. "You have a lovely voice, untrained, but lovely, and the folk revival is…was…hitting Gotham hard when last I was there."

"I appreciate you thinking so kindly," she said, looking down. "Awful nice of you. I don't reckon you've got any requests, since everybody damn else seems to think it's have Sammie sing my song night?"

"The…crush. What's that one? It sounds like it should be in a slasher movie," he said, and she smiled, a little feral, the light catching her eyes so they almost looked red. 

"Just A Crush, it's by the Pine Box Boys," she said, and started the brooding music, building it to the beginning. "Hush my baby, hush, this ain't love, it's just a crush, and pray my baby, pray…" When she finished, she swung into "Will You Remember Me," and stopped again after. "Couple of my favorites, they're on my bloodshed playlist," she said.

"I find the first one could be a movie or a book plot all on its own," he said, leaning on his fist. "A serial killer, I take it."

"Oh, yeah, they do quite a few songs about Willie," she said as she plucked nonsense notes. "That's what they named the antagonist in those songs. Willie, and yeah, he's a serial killer up in the backwoods. They do dark stuff, but it's good. Then there's their alter egos, Lester T. Raww and his Graveside Quartet. They're more…hmmm. Still dark, but more….Charles Addams' Addams Family dark than anything."

"You know the source material? For the Addams Family?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded.

"Yeah. I like him and Gorey both, the styles are similar but I think Gorey's a little more sinister," she replied. "Country, not stupid."

"No, Samantha, that's not what I meant at all," he said. "Simply that most people don't know that the show and the movie were based off of the illustrations, don't know that they exist. And which do you prefer? Gorey or Addams?" She sat back, her guitar all but forgotten on her lap as she thought.

"It really depends on my mood," she said after a moment. "Sometimes I like the…the dark humor more in Addams' work, sometimes I prefer the sinister undertones. I guess you know them both?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "I usually prefer Gorey myself, though Addams has his merits. I have several collections at…at home. Of both artists. I have three original Gorey illustrations."

"Jesus wept," she breathed. "Really?"

"I collect art," he replied. "It interests me." The wind picked up, chill and harsh, and he shivered. Samantha leaned back in her chair and shouted through the screen.

"I need my jacket, please!" Amy brought it to her a minute later, and she handed it over to him. "Here. I ain't lightin' the fire pit tonight, ain't gonna be out long enough, it's already after eight."

She smiled at the sight, the contradiction between his fancy and her simple never so obvious as the leather over the white dress shirt. 

He took it gratefully, her scent rising to his nose again, the weight comforting over his shoulders. "Won't you get cold?" he asked, even as he snuggled down into it.

"Nah. Not so much, flannel's good for that, and I can get a thermal on if I do. So I think we made up today for yesterday, so we're back on schedule to be done Friday. We might have to stay up on the mountain longer than usual Friday to finish, but still yet. We can finish up the splitting and stacking Saturday if we have to." Lazily, she began to pick out Wildwood Flower. "Reckon we could head out Sunday, spend the night in a hotel, get your stuff done Monday."

"That's perfect," he said. "And be back by…"

"Well, depending on how long it takes, and whether I put the hammer down, real late Monday night, unless you want to spend the night somewhere again." She looked out into the night for a moment before back to him. "Have you even called home yet? Let anybody know you're okay?"

"No," he admitted. "Not yet. I don't want anyone having the numbers here. I'll pick up a throwaway Monday and do so." 

"Hell, you should have said something while we were in town --"

"No, I'll get it in Pennsylvania. Take care of it there. I would rather no one know where I am, Samantha. At all." She nodded, slowly, before getting up and putting her guitar away, closing the big door between them and the siblings inside the house, and coming to sit in the chair next to his.

"Amy told you about Kevin today, she said," Samantha began. "Told you what I did."

"Yes," he said, looking over at her, her face shadowed by the way the bare bulb hanging over them lit the porch. "She did."

"It ain't nothin' to me to kill somebody what does shit like that," she said, her tone flat, reminding him of Zsasz. "Somebody that does that sort of thing ain't a person, like I said this mornin'. And they sure hell don't deserve to be called Alphas. Alpha serves. Alpha protects. Alpha doesn't do shit like that, they don't abuse the gifts they been given. So if you want that motherfucker dead, Oswald, you just give me his name, and I promise, I'll bring you back a trophy for proof within the week."

"No, Samantha. I…I intend to hire a professional --"

"I am a professional. I'm a Marine, I'm a mercenary, the boys are both mercenaries, they're former Airborne. I promise. I can kill him."

"He'll kill you, Samantha. He's a psychopath. No."

"Even if that were true, and I ain't sayin' it is, he'd have to be damn good at it to put me down. I don't…I killed Kevin so Amy Beth would know, know solid sure, that he wouldn’t ever come for her again," she said. "I'll kill this sonuvabitch so you'll know the same."

"I'm hiring the best hitman in Gotham to take care of it," he said. "He's ruthless and he's loyal. He'll take care of it." Samantha nodded.

"If you're sure. There's things…you ain't Pack, so I can't tell you, but…if you want it. If you change your mind. Offer's seriously on the table."

"I'd rather have you here, and have someone else take care of it. Whether he dies or not, I realized…today…"

"When you caught hold of Jimmy's scent, yeah," she nodded, and her face softened again, from a hunter to herself again. "Yeah, you were close to a panic attack."

"Very," he admitted, wringing his hands. "And I can't, I have to regain my equilibrium, I have to get over such things, because I am always around Alphas. Always."

"Sure. I reckon there's a lot of'em in your line of work. Sugar, that's going to take time and therapy, I put Amy in therapy as soon as I got her home. She still has some issues with being around Alphas without me or the brothers there, but she can do it."

"I'm not sure that's an option."

"Sure it is. You gonna tell me you ain't got fake IDs? That we ain't pickin' some up Monday? And how's anything gonna get back to Gotham if you go see a therapist in Crossville or Gatlinburg?"

"Stop making sense," he grumbled, a slight smile creeping over his face. 

"Nope. It's one of the few things I'm good at besides killin'." She gestured to her jacket. "Did that help today?"

"Yes. Very much," he admitted.

"Good. Weight and warmth and my scent, I reckon. Familiarity, safety. Anytime we go someplace, you can wear it if it'll help." She raised her head and sniffed. "Go inside, Oswald. Please."

"Why?" He didn't smell anything out of the ordinary, wood smoke, hot metal from the stove, he assumed…

"I'm about to have company, honey, you need to go inside." She stood up from the chair and went to the porch steps. "You really should."

"Don't go," he said, and she turned to face him. "Don't, don't go, Samantha, you don't need it --"

"I'm not going tonight," she said, taking a step back towards Oswald. "I promise. But when he comes, I at least have to speak with him, Oswald, it's rude if I ignore him. And I'm not dumb enough to be rude to a demigod." She looked to the treeline beyond the picket fence before turning back to him. "I promise you, I'll be back up here in five minutes."

Just as she stepped past the protection of the porch roof, the rain came pouring down again, almost waterfall thick, and she stopped a few steps down the walk, raising her face to it, allowing it to pour over her, nature her friend and helper rather than something she had to struggle against. He gulped audibly as she did so, raising one fist to his mouth. God. She was a dryad, a…not a Maenad, they were mad, and Samantha was fully sane…perhaps one of Diana's followers, then. Not tame. Not tame at all. Not safe. 

  
  


She made her way to the picket fence in the pouring rain, stepped past it with a smile. "I know you're here, Smith," she said into the wind and rain that blew in her face. "May as well show yourself." Shadows danced in the corners of her eyes, and between one blink and the next, a stocky bearded man appeared a few feet beyond her while the rain gentled around her. "What is it?"

"Naught but that I would have you again, Wild Woman," his deep voice touched off the magic innate in her bones, causing her eyes to glow. "Would you run with me a while?"

"I can't," she said. "I have an assignment, I have responsibilities."

"Ah. Yon wee wolfie, watching us." He nodded up to the porch, at Oswald in his chair. "He wonders if he could sit up and throw the blade you gave him quick enough. He couldn't."

"And he's under my protection, Smith. He's eaten at my table, slept under my roof. Would you dishonor me?"

"Never, Samantha. I enjoy your company too well. You are certain? Not even for a few hours?"

"Not tonight, Smith, that's certain sure. Ask me again when I've no charge to guard."

"Is he charge only? Or more to you?"

"I only met him last week, Smith. He's of no interest to you."

"If he has stolen the heart of my best hunter, of my favorite wild woman, the heat I expected to grace my furs this winter, he is of great interest to me." His smile was gentler than she expected. "I would ensure he was worthy of her."

"He hasn't stolen my heart, Smith. You of all people know I don't have one."

"I have heard you say so. I have heard you say such, and that Death has no interest in you, and only one of those statements is a true one, Samantha Jane."

"Both are true; I have no heart, and Gwyn's hand is well away from me until such time as I welcome it. He said so himself."

"So it was declared. That only he may take you, and that he would do no such thing until you welcomed his embrace. But you do have a heart. Were I you, I would guard it. A wee wolf thief might take it from you, and then must you seek me out to build you a new one."

"And you always do such a wonderful job," she laughed. "And don't I pay you well and true?"

"Ah. Samantha, you have the most talented mouth this side of the Muddy River, I swear it. Well then. I will leave you to your Pack and your charge. You know what to do should you need me."

"I do. And as always, you honor me with your interest and your kindness."

The wind blew high, the rain came harder again, and the stocky man was gone. Sammie turned back up the walk, shrugging off his words.

  
  
  
  


He let his breath out again as the demigod disappeared, as she turned and crossed the threshold again. He hadn't known he was holding it. Why did he care? She was a grown woman, she could sleep with whoever she wanted. Still, watching her come up the steps, laughing as she wrung water out of her shirt at the top, made him smile. "To quote your sister, that is why umbrellas were invented," he said.

"And as I said before, I can't be bothered to keep up with'em. Lose the damn things. Besides, it's just water," she laughed.

"It rains quite often in Gotham," he said. "One keeps an umbrella handy. How I got my start, really, holding an umbrella for a…woman. I won't call Fish a lady." Samantha leaned against the post, dripping wet, dripping well out of the walkway, he noticed. "They used to tease me about being her umbrella boy, her toy. It used to hurt. Like my…like my name. Penguin. I've been called that since I was four. Because of the way I walk."

"I'm sorry," she said, and he waved it off. 

"That's not why I'm speaking of it. I certainly used to let it hurt me. Used to let it bother me. Like the words you heard today." He watched her look down, look away. "Don't. Imbecilic troglodytes such as that should never be able to hurt a person like you, Samantha. You're a thousand times the person they are. And what scars you bear only show that as fact."

"Oh, I'm fine, don't you worry none," she began, and he snorted.

"I saw you hide your face. From such as that. From a snaggle toothed inbred hillbilly, Samantha. No. I'm not your Pack, I'm at best beginning to be your friend, but I am telling you, you are a…he and his brothers are peons, at best, worms. You're so much more. So much higher above anyone like that." He stopped, surprised at his own vehemence. "Just…just don't. Don't pay attention to people such as they. Their opinions don't matter."

"You're bein' real sweet, sugar. And I appreciate it. I do," she began. "But I know what's true and what ain't about me. I know what he said, it was true. I been nothin' but scars since I was fourteen. I've heard all there is to hear about myself and about my Pack and my family. Hillbillies, poor white trash, no count, I can go on." She shrugged. "Yep. I hid, but not because it hurt me. More because I was embarrassed. And I was tryin' real hard not to lose my temper. Real hard. 'Cause of what he said about Amy." Her hands opened and closed, clenched into fists before she sighed again and smiled. "But I'm afraid I've really got to ask you to go inside now, sugar, and ask her to bring me some dry stuff. That last soakin' got me good, and I don't want to drip on the floors."

"Of course," he said, getting up. "But remember what I've said, Samantha, please."

"I will, I promise. Thank you again for bein' sweet about it." 

He did as he was asked before retiring, considering again the dichotomy that was Samantha. Gorey and Addams, bloody songs of vengeance sung with flair and heart and twang, praying to God above but having been invited to a demigod's bed. Strong and confident in her own abilities, but brought almost to tears by cruel words, spurning comfort offered freely. Proud as a queen and humble as a child. Her face lifted to the rain, the white skin of her back marred by cruel deep lines of scars…raindrops on that skin, water dripping and easy laughter about it. 

She was wild, and she was civilized, too; an odd and likely uneasy balance of woman and wolf. And she was his host, he told himself, turning to face the wall. His savior. His friend. She wouldn't appreciate knowing what he wanted, what he wanted of her, what he wanted to know of her. No. She wouldn't. 

But he hated remembering the look on her face before she'd dropped it to her knees, hated hearing her say unkind things of herself, and that, that was a constant refrain already. She was beautiful, she was kind, she was intelligent…everything he'd ever wanted, and so far out of reach she may as well be a star.

He sighed, and tried to settle into a more comfortable position. He needed to sleep, they needed to finish the pantry and the deep freezes tomorrow, and God knew what she'd come up with after that. 

  
  
  
  


"Words I would have with you, wee wolfie," the deep voice in his dreams rumbled, and he jerked up, pain radiating through his leg. Deep in a forest, surrounded by golden leaved trees, no trail in sight. "Words and that is all. My Samantha seems fond."

"She's not your Samantha," he said, looking around as he crawled painfully to his feet. 

"Truer words. She is her own wolf, and no one else's. Price and prize, wee wolf, prize and price. Tell me your prize, and I shall name my price." There. Leaning against the big tree. The burly man wearing leather and denim, bone buttons on his shirt, long brown hair and beard in braids. "What would you have?"

"What have you got?"

"Ah. Prizes, then. The surety of the death of your pups' sire. I can kill him, I can make him suffer, I can let you see it. I can see to it he never darkens your dreams or your thoughts again, wee wolf. Would you know my price for that?"

"Yes," Oswald whispered, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Leave Ross Mountain. Forget them, wee wolf, forget this place, forget these people." He shut his eyes. He barely knew them. He could. He could go home. Home. Sea winds and silk shirts, his people around him, Jim, Selina, Gabe…on the heels of that thought, though, came the images of Amy weeping in the kitchen, Randy and Nick arguing over the rummy score, Samantha giving him her knife this afternoon…

"No."

"More attached than I thought you would be this early. Interesting. Prize two; to know why Samantha comes to my bed besides the silver I pour into her hands."

"No," he said quickly. "She'll tell me when she wants to. Or she won't tell me at all."

"You are more interesting than I thought," the Feyrie said, limping slowly toward him. "Do you not want to know the price before you cast such knowledge away? Knowledge is power, little wolf."

"I don't need to know that price," he said, barely keeping the snarl from his voice. "Samantha's reasons are hers."

"But you should know them," the Feyrie said. "If you mean to have her, you should know her."

"I -- Samantha -- I just met her," he protested.

"Yet she fills your thoughts. Yet you would have tried to kill who you thought a Feyrie to protect her, had you thought it needful."

"I'm grateful. She saved my life." He buried himself in partial truth. 

"She scents of the west wind to me," the Feyrie said, stopping a few feet away. "Wild and free. Have you seen her in her form yet? Have you seen her run? Such grace. Such beauty. And when she hunts for me, I could ask no better. Long and lean, and in my furs, she is the same; all bronzed skin and long legs wrapped around me. Can you see her, little wolf, can you imagine her naked and waiting before the fire for me?"

"Too well," he admitted through gritted teeth. 

"Yet she refused me tonight," the stranger, Smith, it must be, said. "For you. And I would know why."

"Sorry. I have no idea what you're talking about. If she refused you, it wasn't for me. She's not in my bed, either."

"And I tell you it was," Smith said. "I tell you it was. I know her. She has never refused my bed before. You, your presence, is the only change in her life since the last time I visited her."

"She doesn't want me," he insisted. 

"She could have left you in her brothers' care a few hours. She would have before. Something draws her to you. Something besides the pups in your belly and the money in your hands. Samantha is a woman close to her wild nature, and she follows her instincts."

"Pity, then," he said. 

"No. No, she'd not refuse me for pity. So. Price and prize, lad. Would you know how to win her? To hold her as a treasure in your hands, to know her as I have done? Better, even?" The Feyrie paused, let that sink in, gauged the silence. "There is the prize. The price, though. The price, are you man enough, are you wolf enough, to pay the price?"

"If," he said slowly, "if I wanted to woo her, I would. If I wanted her, I'd win her on my own terms. No disrespect meant, of course."

"Of course," the Feyrie's tone was more than slightly mocking. "Have I nothing, then? Can you not be tempted? Not be swayed?"

"With what? The price you've asked so far was too much for me to pay. They took me in, they freed me, and you wanted me to turn my back on them for something that I'm going to see to anyway. No. I won't leave them for anything you can offer me."

The grin that spread across the Feyrie's face was not mocking now. It was as true, he thought, as a Fey's smile could be. "Oh, well done. Well done and well met to you. I had thought -- well. It matters little what I had thought. Well met and well matched. Care for her as best you can, Wolf-King."

  
  
  


Screaming, who was screaming, he wondered as he woke, rolled with a hiss to the side of the bed. It wasn't Samantha, it wasn't -- but here she was now at the door. "Not you? Okay, the boys then," she said, and left the doorway, Amy following her in form, he could hear her claws clicking on the floor, heard her whining when Samantha closed the door in her face. 

Nick was thrashing around in his blankets, caught in the dream, Randy holding his arms. "He won't wake up, Sis," Randy said as he held on, trying to keep their brother from hurting himself in his sleep. "Gonna have to --"

"I know what I have to do, Randy. Let him go, I'm here now, you go make sure Mowgli stays out of here a couple minutes, we'll puppy pile after." Randy traded places with her, and she climbed up into bed beside Nick, pushed him forward a bit so she could get behind him and hold his arms down, hold him, while Randy shut the door. Then she pressed his head back on her shoulder and spoke, using tone.

"Wake up, LitterBrother. Wake up, wake, wake all the way up, come out of it. We're home now. We're all home now, and all of us safe, wake up." Nick's eyes twitched, and he stopped struggling in her arms, a whimper coming from his throat. "I promise you, buddy, I promise, we're all fine, it's all fine, wake up and we'll have puppy pile in a minute, but you got to wake up and tell me you're yourself again first, buddy. Ain't gonna let Amy in here to help pile till you do. Wake up."

Now his eyes opened, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Alpha," he said after a long moment. "Bad."

"I know, buddy. I know." She stopped using tone and just sat and held him for a few minutes, let him breathe through it, into wakefulness. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, ready to pile now." She kissed her brother on the forehead and patted his shoulder so he'd sit up, let her get up and open the door. Amy and Randy both ran into the room, both in form, and jumped on his bed, pawing gently at him as he sat up. "Chill out a minute, y'all, let me change, too." His grey wolf joined the other two, nosing gently at them before laying down, letting them lay down touching him, their heads crossing his back, Randy's huge paws on his.

Samantha tapped on the door where Oswald was sleeping. "Come in," she heard, and she opened it to see him sitting up on the bed. "Who was it? Are they all right?"

"It was Nicky, and we're doing puppy pile, come on if you want," she said.

"I…puppy pile? What's that?"

"We shift and pile on top of him. Weight, breath, fur, it helps calm you down." 

"I can't."

"Why not, Oswald, the collar shouldn't have messed with your ability to shift, sugar --"

"No, but I'm…just no. I'd rather not shift. I'd just rather not." Slowly, she nodded.

"I get it. Okay." She sighed. "Okay, um. Shit. Would you mind comin' in there two foot? To cuddle up?" The look he gave her was…it was so hard to read. There was disbelief, and there was hope, and there was pain. "We'll all be real careful of you. I promise, we're always careful when someone else is two foot and we're four."

"Why?" he asked. "Why are you asking me?"

" 'Cause Nick likes you, and we like you. If you don't want to, that's fine. We'll understand. But…hell, you know what, I'm just gonna leave his door open. If you want to come on, you can. If you don't, you don't have to." She left the doorway, and he heard her nails cross the floor, heard the bed in the other room creak as she must have jumped up on it. Quiet whimpers, the sound of bodies moving, the bed creaking again. Then quiet.

He waited thirty minutes before going to look at them. All four of them in form, three piled on top of and around Nick's gray wolf, all touching him somehow. And there was room for one more. 

Nick opened one eye as the hand touched his paw, then the other, raised his muzzle to see Oswald sitting beside the bed in a chair. He lolled his tongue out in wolf smile, then leaned forward and licked the hand, settling his muzzle on top of it and looking up at the face beside him. Yeah. Not quite Pack. Getting closer, though. He licked again, and settled back to sleep.

  
  


Sammie's inner clock woke her an hour and a half later to see the strange tableau. He'd brought Nick's desk chair over and was asleep in it, his hand under Nick's head. She wriggled out from under Amy's paw, stepped delicately over the pile of furry bodies, leapt to the floor before shifting back to two feet herself. That could not be comfortable. She sat down Indian style in front of the chair, and touched his left knee gently. "Hey. Hey, why'n't you go back to bed, honey, you're gonna get a crick in your neck."

"Helping," he said sleepily, not awake, and she smiled.

"And we appreciate it, more than you know, darlin', but Nicky wouldn't want you to hurt yourself to do it. Come on, let me help you back to bed, there's still an hour before I wake everybody else up." He blinked at her, came more awake with each, it looked like.

"What?"

"Nicky wouldn't want you hurtin'," Sam said again. "You're gonna get a crick in your neck that way, sugar, why don't you go back to bed?"

"Oh. Of course."

"Next time," she said, standing up and backing up so he could move, "just climb in with us. Then you won't hurt yourself tryin' to help."

"It looked…rather intimate," he said. "Familial. I didn’t want to intrude." He passed her by at the door, and it took her a second to shut the door behind them before she caught up.

"Tell you what," she said to his back, "your reasons for not piling in are yours, and I won't push, 'cause they ain't mine. But you was invited. And you're invited for the next one, and the next, and the next, 'cause son, they ain't many weeks go by in this house that somebody don't need a puppy pile." She moved on to her room, shut the door gently behind herself and locked it, got dressed except for her boots, still beside the wood stove and damn she hoped they were dry. She came back out, stirred the fire and loaded it up again, before going to make the morning coffee and have her talk with God.

  
  


The dream he'd had never fully left his thoughts that day, nor the next. It was Saturday morning before it really did, lazy Saturday morning when Samantha didn't get them all up at the crack of dawn. When he got up, she was sitting in her chair with a notebook, going over the inventories he'd written out for her (he'd rewritten Amy's because it didn't match his own), and she smiled as he came into the living room. "Good mornin'. Biscuits and gravy and sausage are on the stove, sugar."

"Good morning. Thank you." 

"You got plans today?" she called out as he went to the kitchen.

"No, not particularly. Why?" he asked, hearing her come closer, her boots heavy on the floor.

"Wondered if you wanted to get out the house a little while is all," she said, leaning on the doorjamb. "It's right pretty out right now, ain't supposed to rain."

"That might be very nice. Did you have a destination in mind?" he asked, spooning gravy over the biscuits.

"I…up the mountain a ways. Past where we log at. Over towards Granny and Granddaddy's old place. There's a real fine view out that way, you can see all the way into Kentucky, Granddaddy said."

Randy came up behind her, started poking at her. "It sounds enchanting," he said as he sat down at the table. "Certainly."

"Cool," she said, and stood straight. "Let me know when you want to go, I'll get the ATV out." She turned around to see Randy behind her. "And what do you want, you big lug?"

"To get past you? You were blocking the doorway, you know, Daddy was a bricklayer, not a damn doorhanger."

"Ain't that the damn truth," she said, pinching at her midsection. "I gotta --"

"You're too thin as it is, Sissy, I was just playin'. Let me through, though, I want coffee." He watched the siblings play, watched her try to block the doorway again, stretching up and grabbing the edge of the doorjamb while her brother tried tickling her to get her to move. Finally, Randy picked her up and physically moved her, and she laughed as she went back to her chair in the living room. "She's takin' you up to the old place?" Randy asked as he poured half and half into his cup. 

"Apparently," he said, looking up at the huge man. 

"Huh. Sam, be sure and take a basket," Randy said as he left the room. "Bet you those apples are ripe."

"Shut up, Randy." 

"Well, I just do. Those were good ones, too, if I'm remembering right."

"Randall Caldwell Ross, you're half a step from gettin' my boot upside your head," she hissed, and then they were silent for a few minutes before Randy must have picked up his guitar from its place. "There is a woman, she lives in the West. She's not the Devil, but she wears his best dress…"

Sam joined in. "She's quicker than lightning with the iron on her hip. She's quicker than lightning and they say she don't miss." A smile passed over her face as she looked up at her brother, as they sang the chorus together. "I can't say I love you, I don't hardly know you, they warned me 'bout you from the start. They say don't you cross her if you don't want a hole in your heart."

Too late, Oswald thought as he watched her. Far too late already.

  
  
  


She parked the ATV for a moment in front of a house that was slowly rotting away, bushes and nature beginning to take back their territory. White roses vined all over the front porch, ivy crawled up the walls. "This was Granny and Granddaddy's house," she said. "Used to be you couldn't come up this way without smelling fresh bread and usually some kind of cobbler or pie. Chicken, Granny made the best fried chicken in the county. And Granddaddy would be sitting on the front porch with his guitar, up until the arthritis got him so he couldn't anymore." She had to turn her head to hide her tears. "Taught me and Randy how to play. Granny made pies every week for three months to pay Scooter Howard for teaching Amy how to play fiddle." She put the ATV back in gear, pulled around behind the ruined house, past a barn that had definitely seen better days, to the top of a slope. 

Below them spread a mutiny of color, the trees all in different shades of red and orange, green and yellow, as far as the eye could see, for miles and miles. She pointed. "Over there. You see that water tower? Way, way off? That's Kentucky."

"Just barely, yes," Oswald answered. 

"I know it ain't like Rock City down to Chattanooga," she said, shrugging. "But it's somethin'. And I figured you had to be getting some stir crazy." She killed the engine. "Besides, this way we can talk and I know the kids ain't listening." She turned to face him. "Have you decided what you're going to do about the babies?"

"That's the thing, Samantha," he said, leaning back against the headrest. "I can't keep them. I don't…I think I felt them move yesterday. I think it's too late. But I can't keep them."

"Why not?" she asked, leaning back herself. 

"You can't be seriously asking me that," he said, eyes widening at her question. "You can't."

"Yeah, I can. They're half you, honey. Kill off their sire, don't let nobody know how they come to be, and I don't see how it changes anything. You --"

"I want to pass," he hissed. "I don't want anyone to ever know I'm Omega."

"Okay," she said. "Okay, no need to get mad at me, darlin'. So look at it logically. There's got to be folks who want babies. There always are. If you can't keep them, I reckon adopting them out's your next best bet, if you're too far along."

"It's my only option," he sighed. "The only one."

"Okay. You know, I could ask Eena if she knows any Feyrie who want babies. No, don't buck on me, you don't know, you don't. They're all real fond of children, Oswald, real fond. They'd raise your babies safe and sound, and the Hill Eena comes from, they'd be treated real good," Samantha promised. 

"Let me think about it. I don't like the idea. I'm…I'm attached. I didn't think I would be, but feeling them move yesterday…I know I need to give them up, but to go under the Hill? That's just…I wouldn't be able to check on them, to make sure they were safe..."

"What's it feel like?" she asked. "I ain't likely to ever carry, and Amy can't. What's it feel like?"

"Butterflies, right now. Just…a butterfly touching, but inside of me. It's magical. Truly." His hand rested on the slight bump of his stomach. "Absolutely magical."

"I bet," Samantha said, and sat up straight, leaned forward and looked out over the view. "Shit. Ain't no nice way to say this."

"What?"

"Do you trust us? I mean, we live rough, and I don't reckon any amount of money's gonna change that. But I can ask the Pack. Amy can't bear, I'm not likely to. The boys…they date, but I don't see either of them mating off." She turned to look at him. "Do you…do you think you could trust us to raise'em right?"

"Oh, God." Tears again, he was so tired of crying so much, but he was doing it again. "God, Samantha, yes. Yes, if they agree, yes. I can't think of…yes, it's rough, but they would be safe. And…and I'd know…you'd send pictures. Videos. You would, wouldn't you?"

"If you didn't come see'em every so often, I'd be surprised as hell. Of course we would. But I can't make that decision on my own, Oswald, I can't, I may be Alpha but --"

"Of course not, of course not, but it…it would be the perfect solution, Samantha, and I'd pay --"

"No," she said, a flat tone to her voice he couldn't read. "Damn it. Money ain't everything, and it sure ain't why I'd take on your babies. But I reckon…look. You been up here about two weeks now, right?"

"If you count the time I spent as a wolf, yes. Why?"

"Do I spend a lot of money? Does the Pack?"

"No. That's obvious."

"No. But we're happy, Oswald. Yes, the money you give me next week, that'll come in real handy. I'll be grateful. But I can promise you, just about, that not much will change in the house. I won't worry about the Costco run in a couple weeks, that's for certain, or the taxes. But for the most part, darlin', not much will change. We'll still go hunting in November, we'll still grow our garden next year and can it up and dry it up and freeze it up. And we'll live with the mountain, and the mountain will live with us. And we'll be happy, with our books and our games and our music and our work. We don't need money to be happy. Now think about this; since you been back two foot. Ain't you been content, at least? Other than worryin' about the babies and all?"

"For the most part," he had to concede. "I miss my work, but other than that…"

"Sure. 'Cause you're used to bein' in charge, I reckon, and up here I am. That must grate, and I'm sorry. But I know --"

"That's not it. I miss the…the mental work. Planning, strategizing, trying to out think everyone. Of course you're in charge here, I have no issues there."

"I can't help with that. I'm sorry. But other than that, you've been content. Living prolly rougher than you ever thought you could. See? Money doesn't buy happiness, nor contentment. It sure don't buy what we can give your babies. Self-sufficiency and freedom." She paused. "And while you're getting better, you'd still be there. Get to raise them, at least some, till you're ready to go back."

"Oh, Samantha…" he couldn't speak, couldn't, bent double as the tears flowed, her arm sliding around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"Shhh. It's partly your hormones right now, sugar. It's okay. I promise, you just let it out, it's okay." She stroked his back gently, letting him weep, not trying to stop the fall, just letting him know he wasn't alone. He turned into her shoulder, still crying, and she held him close, like she would one of the Pack, still silent, until his sobs died away, slow, easy. 

"You're too kind," he said at last, straightening. "Too kind to someone you barely know, Samantha." 

"I know enough," she said. "Now I'm wonderin' if you like apples? 'Cause Randy was right, there's a real good tree back over yonder."

"I do," he said. "Very much."

"Cool. Let's go see if they're ripe yet," she said, climbing out of the ATV. "It ain't far." She picked up a basket and a blanket out of the back, waited for him to get out, and led the way through the trees, staying close, one hand on her gun in case of snakes. "You can help pick if you want, or you can just watch, it ain't a big deal," she said as they came in sight of the laden tree. The branches were bent almost to the ground under their burden of fruit, and she whistled. "Gonna have to come up next week and take care of this, at least use it to -- " A deer startled on the other side of the tree, running deeper into the forest. "Yep. At least use it to bait a little bit. Have to prune it back next spring, look at that." She reached up and picked a red and green striped apple, pulled her folding knife from her pocket and cut it in half. "Here you go, try it," she said, holding out one half as she wiped her blade on her jeans, folded it back up. He took it and smiled mischievously.

"Trying to tempt me, Samantha?" 

"Oh dear God," she laughed. "I hadn't even thought of that. No, I sure ain't Eve." 

"Oh, that's good. Not too sweet, not too tart. What kind is it?" he asked after a bite.

"Hell if I know. Just the apple tree behind Granny's house. She used to make pies from it, and apple butter, applesauce, spiced apples. You want a basket full?"

"I don't know if I could eat enough to make it worth it," he said. 

"Everybody else'll eat'em too, don't worry. You ever do this before?"

"No."

"Okay. Well, try to leave some stem if you can, it keeps them from rotting fast. Nothing bruised, not if these are for eating. Bruises don't matter much if we were gonna make applesauce or something like that, apple butter, but just for eating, or for pies or spiced, you want them without bruises. Watch for snakes, watch for wasps and hornets." She bit into the half she held. "Lord, it's been too long since I come up here." She looked around. "The still used to be up there," she pointed.

"A still? Seriously?" He asked, and she nodded, her mouth full.

"Yeah. Granddaddy made his own, he didn't sell it. Ain't no law against it so long as you ain't sellin' it. We tore it down a few years back, though. Dangerous." She finished her apple half. "You can just watch if you like." She started looking at the apples on the branch in front of her, choosing carefully, only the best fruit, only the biggest, the ones that looked the juiciest, the firmest. 

He watched her for a few minutes, listened to her humming the song Randy had played earlier, before joining her, watching which fruits she chose and trying to emulate her. "So what time did you want to leave tomorrow?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I gotta get the atlas out when we get home," she said. "Figure out the mileages. Figure it's about a twelve, maybe a fourteen hour drive, depending. So I'd like to be on the road no later than say, eight." She looked up. "Can you drive stick?"

"I can drive, but not a standard, no. And it's difficult. With…with my leg the way it is." 

"Oh, hell, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about that. Yeah, I reckon it would be," she said. "Well, that's all right, I haven't put Mystery through her paces in a while. Hold still, darlin', you got a hornet on your shoulder." She reached over and flicked the wasp off of him. "There you go. Watch them right now, they're apple drunk and fall mean." 

"Your colloquialisms," he murmured as he picked another apple. 

"What? I'm sorry. They're…they've been eating the fallen apples --"

"No, Samantha. I understood what you meant. Like I said the other day, I find them rather amusing, endearing. And I fail to understand why you seem to hide your intelligence behind the way you speak."

"Oh, I can speak perfectly when I choose to," she said, the barest hint of her twang still there. "I choose not to, because then people underestimate me. It's easier to speak as I did growing up, and it tends to disarm people, as well. To make them trust that I wouldn't hurt a fly. And when I choose to use it in anger, it frightens people, because then they assume that I'm uncivilized, that I'm much more dangerous than I look."

"You are."

"Why thank you, darlin', you do know how to flatter a girl," she said, her drawl returning. 

"It's not flattery if it's true," he said. "I wouldn't want to have to fight you."

"That ain't never happenin'," she said, her head shaking. "Never."

"You were going to fight Amy the other night, and she's your sister."

"Yeah, that's not a fight. That's discipline, Pack discipline. That's different. Fighting's different. And I wouldn't fight you."

"Because I'm Omega, I suppose."

"No," she said. "Nothing to do with it."

"Then why --" he slipped on a fallen apple, would have hit hard if Samantha hadn't caught him. 

"Hey, easy, sugar," she said, letting him cling as she pulled him back up. "You okay?"

"Fine," he muttered, his pride wounded. "I'm fine."

"You sure? We probably have enough, we can go back home if you want. Or whatever. Just cruise the mountain if you want." 

"The basket's not even half full," he argued. "I slipped, that's all."

"If you're sure. It's Saturday, after all, you should be doin' what you want to do, you don't have to hang out with me."

"I want to. It's…you're very easy to be around, Samantha." She smiled, and that blush started again, and he pressed on. "Besides, what man wouldn't want to spend his Saturday alone with a beautiful woman?" Further, down to her neck already.

"Now that is flattery," she said after a moment. 

"No, you're lovely, Samantha. Graceful and --"

"Oh, Lord, quit teasin'. Ain't funny," she said, turning her back and moving to another branch, leaving him startled.

"What? What did I say that's teasing?" he asked, moving to stand beside her. "You are graceful and elegant. You have lovely high cheekbones, perfect lips, expressive eyes. You're lovely, Samantha."

"You're real kind, darlin'. How about we talk about somethin' else now?" 

"If you turn any redder, you could match one of these," he mused. "Why are you getting so embarrassed?" 

"Got my reasons. Let it go and quit teasin'."

"But you blush so prettily," he said, pushing just a little more. "I'm very persistent, Samantha. I'll find out why. It's only a matter of time, you should just tell me."

"Nope." She kept her lips pressed tightly together. 

"I'll ask Amy. No. I'll ask Randy. He'll know." She stayed silent. "Samantha. Do you really think I'm teasing you? Really?"

"Don't reckon you think you are, but you are," she sighed at last, turning to face him. "Come here. You may as well see'em proper." She put the basket down and closed her eyes as she slowly pulled the flannel shirt from her shoulders, tugged her tee up and over her head, leaving only her camisole top. Long, thick scars lined her shoulders, more on her left forearm, and she turned so that he could see the lines on her back, red and purple marring smooth white skin. When she turned back around, he could see that her right breast was obviously misshapen and smaller than her left, more scarring, surgical scarring this time, above the line of her camisole, spreading downward. 

"That," she said as she turned her back again and pulled her tee back on. "That is why you're teasin' when you say pretty things." She swung her flannel back on, turned to face him. "It's real nice and all. But Dave, he wasn't far off from the truth. I've had more than one person tell me I was real pretty, then they saw those and only wanted to…to do things…in the dark. And those ain't the worst. You won't ever see the worst." She bent down and picked up the basket. "Reckon that's pry enough. You ready to go home?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Samantha, I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay. Hell, you'd have seen those sometime anyway. I'm careful, I try really hard, but I'm not perfect. Somebody screams in the night, there's times I only sleep in my camisole, I might not grab my top." She shrugged. "I'm the one who's sorry, I hope seein'em won't mark the babies."

"Mark the…no, that's a wives tale, an old wives tale. I don't believe in that sort of thing." He wasn't sure what to say. She'd exposed herself, truly, and now her hurt and her self-hatred shone out instead of the smile that was usually in her eyes.

"There's some truth in the back teeth to a lot of'em," she said as she moved past him, toward the edge of the tree, waited there. 

"A few, perhaps, but not in this case," he said as he moved toward her. "Now are those supposed to change my mind? Make me think you're not pretty?"

"Oh, God, Oswald, let it the fuck go," she said, rolling her eyes.

"No. I won't. I'm not very good at that. I still think you're lovely and graceful and elegant, Samantha. One of Diana's handmaids, the huntresses that ran with her. Atalanta. Boadica."

"Cut it out, for the love of --"

"No," he said, taking her by the wrist. "No. I won't. I won't listen to you say ugly things about yourself when I know they're not true. I don't know why your Pack allows it."

"Because they are true --"

"They're not. I don't know how you got those scars, but I'm assuming doing something stupidly brave. Like rescuing perfect strangers in the rain."

"It was stupid, that's for damn sure," she answered. "Are we gonna stand here and have this conversation? Really?"

"Do you want your siblings to hear it and be on my side?"

"Sweet Christ on his cross." She put the basket down. "As for rescuing perfect strangers in the rain, it was the right thing to do and I'd do it again. Besides, in so doing, some have entertained angels unawares."

"I'm no angel," he said. "Far from it."

"I can't find it in my heart to disagree with you at the moment, darlin'. Let this go. Please," she asked. "Please just let this go."

"Why? Why is it that you want to believe these things when they're not true? Why torture yourself, why --"

"Because it hurts too much!" she shouted. "Because it fuckin' hurts too much to hope that somebody might be able, someday, maybe, to see past it! I've tried. I've tried so hard, I've heard people tell me that scars don't damn matter but then they do. So fine, fuck all y'all, I'll accept what's true and what's real, what I can feel and see and fuck it all." She took a deep breath, unclenched her fists, wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm real sorry, I shouldn't have shouted. That was uncalled for."

"You seem to have only ever been with fools, Samantha. By choice or by lack of self-identity, I'm not sure. But they were imbeciles if they couldn't see you as you are."

"Like you said a little while ago, you don't know me."

"I know enough," he answered. "I know enough to know that those," he gestured to her shoulders, "are only the wrapping over a heart and a soul as big as this mountain. Bigger." 

"That's real sweet. Problem is folks see the wrapping. They don't see what's inside," she sighed. "Thanks for lookin'. I appreciate it." She picked the basket back up. "Now. You ready?"

  
  
  
  


Mystery, he found out the next morning, was a 1968 Dodge Superbee, black with purple detailing, with a black leather interior, bucket seats in front. Samantha insisted on referring to the car as "she." 

"She's runnin' just a little off," Samantha said as she listened to the motor run. "Just a hair. It's nothing to worry about, probably just needs the timing adjusted when we get home." Miles turned under Samantha's lead foot, and he fell asleep listening to her sing along to the songs on her iPod, hooked up to the stereo. He woke up in Virginia, where they had lunch and she checked the map to make sure she was right about their route. When they got back into the car, he waited until they were on the interstate again before turning the music down.

"Don't mess with my tunes, sleepyhead," she said, glancing at him in the passenger seat. "I'm gonna need Lester growlin' at me to keep me awake."

"I'm awake now," he said. "And I can keep you awake."

"Okay then. Keep me awake."

"Tell me how you got them. The scars on your shoulders, on your back." She stiffened in her seat, nodded.

"I was fourteen. Amy was seven," she began. "I was checking some traps out in the woods one day, it was summer. I trapped for furs at the time to try to make a little money."

"That's still a thing?"

"Yep. Still a thing. Even now." She sipped from her go cup. "I come back out of the woods at the creek, it's below the house, I don't think you know where it's at yet. I'll show you or have the boys show you when we get home. Anyway. I came back out, and I saw Amy down at the creek. About…five hundred, maybe a thousand yards away from me." She breathed deep. "Problem was, there was a black bear between me and her, and it was headed for her."

"A bear?" His eyes were so wide they'd drop out his head in a minute, Sammie thought as she glanced over. "A bear? You were mauled?"

"Just hang on, let me tell the story. So I'd been checkin' traps, I had a couple carcasses in a satchel, and I started yelling, started screaming at Amy to drop, to play dead. And I took one of those carcasses out and threw it, hard as I could, at the bear. Trying to get its attention. And guess what?"

"You did."

"I did," she agreed. "Now the problem was I had to keep its attention until Amy got safe. And I did. It…we danced a bit, me and that bear. It picked me up. That's the scars on my shoulders and my back. It picked me up to try to squish me. It did squish me a little. Tried to bite me, and I got my arm in its mouth instead of my head. Stabbed it in the eye. Stabbed it in the eye, and I thought I'd be all right, but it seemed just pissed off after that, so when it roared again, I stabbed it in the throat, and hoped to Christ I'd be able to breathe long enough to…well. It died then, though. Slow, but it died." 

"Why didn't you shift?"

"I was fourteen, I wasn't thinking, and even then, honest, shifted I don't think I could have taken it. Nope. Luck or blessed, I'm still not sure which. I ended up passing out at some point. Woke up a couple hours later, helped skin it, sold that fur for enough for school clothes the next fall." She smiled. "So that knife on your belt, it's killed a bear. It's a good blade."

  
  


He was impatient and snappish the closer they got to the city, and she found herself biting her tongue more than once. "Where are we going from here, honey?" She asked. "I need to know."

"As cliché as it sounds, the bus station," he said. "That's the first stop. Then tomorrow we'll go to the banks."

"Nick called it," she said. "Like Casino." He barked out a laugh.

"Yes, quite." 

She parked the car in an overpriced garage and stopped him before they got out. "You want my jacket or my flannel, honey? Flannel ought to have more scent by now, but the jacket's heavier." At his impatient glare, she folded her arms. "You're gonna need one or the other, darlin'." 

"Flannel," he said after a moment. "I think it's more about the scent than anything."

She opened the car door, stepped out, and shrugged her flannel off, handing it back inside to him before getting her jacket out of the back seat. "I'll be right behind you, darlin'," she said. 

"I know." 

She followed him through the corridors, down flights of stairs that made her wince, thinking of his having to climb them again, until finally stopping at a row of lockers lining a wall. His gait became even more erratic as he hurried to the one he wanted, picking up the lock with trembling fingers. It was the same lock he'd left there two years prior, he was sure of it. Samantha leaned against the lockers next to him, waiting, watching the people around them. Three numbers. It popped open in his hand, and he unthreaded it and opened the locker to show a black duffel bag with another lock on the zipper. Reaching in and hefting it, his knees went weak with relief, and he would have fallen if Samantha hadn't caught him.

"Come here, sugar, come on, stand up. There you go. Everything the way it should be?"

"Yes. So far." He handed her the bag and closed the locker again, relocking it. He could reuse it, since it hadn't been compromised, and reached for the bag. She swung it up over her shoulder instead. 

"Don't even, darlin', you're dead on your feet. Let's get the fuck out of here and find a den, this place don't smell good and it's throwin' me off." He nodded, and they retraced their steps back to the car.

"I don't have the key for this lock, Samantha," he said when they were both in the car, "and I want -- I need --" She reached over and looked at it, shrugged, and pulled it apart for him without too much trouble. "Thank you." Taking the lock from the zipper, he opened the bag to find piles of banded money, four large and three small manila envelopes, just as he'd left it. Opening one of the small manila envelopes, a driver's license, a Social Security card, and a birth certificate fell out, a small key taped to the back of the driver's license. "Perfect. And people say I'm paranoid," he said. 

"You're good?" she asked.

"We're good," he confirmed.

"Awesome, close that up and let's get gone, darlin'." She backed out of the space and drove back toward the edge of the city, finding a Hampton Suites and pulling in. Better than some, not the Hilton, but he wanted to keep a low profile.

"Samantha?" He said as they went into the room. "Why only one room?" 

"I'm sleepin' in form, darlin'. The better to guard you with, my dear," she joked. 

"You could have gotten two rooms, Samantha, it's not like we don't have the money now," he said, and she cocked her head.

"That ain't my money, darlin'. I ain't spendin' it. Besides, you want another room, that's fine. Go down the front desk and get one. This is what I can afford tonight."

"Samantha. That's not --"

"I'm tired, honey. I drove thirteen hours today, I got another thirteen tomorrow after we do your runnin'. I want to eat somethin' and go to sleep. If I sleep in form, I can sleep on the floor. You're perfectly safe with me. I thought you knew that."

"That's not it. Your...your modesty, Samantha, I'm thinking of you."

"I'm fine. You've seen the ones. The others, I ain't plannin' on takin' my camisole off. So no worries." 

"There's more to modesty than just your scars, Samantha," he chided, and she laughed.

"Former service. I got over other people seeing my junk a long time ago, darlin'." She stretched her arms out over her head, then bent over, laying her palms flat on the floor before standing again. "Denny's next door?"

"Works for me," he shrugged. He opened the bag again, pulled ten twenties from it before handing it to Samantha. "Here, put this in the trunk while we're gone." She nodded, and they left.

"Slight change of plans, if you're amenable," he said as they ate. "Not just one bank. Three. Here in Philly." 

"Okay," she said after taking a drink. "Why are you cleaning it out?"

"Just...call it a feeling," he said. 

"It's your stuff, darlin'. It doesn't bother me any. I ain't nothin' but the chauffeur and I guess the muscle."

"We'll have to stop somewhere and buy more bags," he said, and she nodded.

"Got to be a Wal-Mart around here somewhere. We're okay, darlin'. I'm not worried about it."

"And if we have to stop on the way back to Tennessee, two rooms next time," he insisted. 

"Sure," she said, and pushed her plate away, turning and kicking her legs up in the booth, putting her back to the wall, watching the door.

"You're not done."

"I ain't as hungry as I thought." 

"What did I say?" he asked. "What's wrong now? You're so touchy, Samantha. So very easily insulted."

"I'm not insulted. Just not hungry anymore." She finished off her soda and set the glass down. 

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"Nope. Not exactly. The steak's a little...I don't know."

"Is it off?"

"Like, right on the edge, yeah. Not quite. Maybe freezerburned."

Lazy, lazy, he hated lazy cooks, it took a whole two minutes to choose a different cut when one was off, and it was easy to tell. "I'll complain."

"Nope. Somebody might need that job. Let it go."

"You're going to be hungry. No."

"Yes, Mowgli, let it go, damn it. Like I said, whoever's back there needs their job. Let it go."

"I worked back of house, Samantha, I know --"

"I know, darlin', and I appreciate your insight," she said. "But you ain't whoever made it. You don't know what they're going through." 

"Probably half a dozen apple bowls," he said, and she grinned.

"Maybe so. But that's not the point. The point is, I'm okay, I only had a couple of bites so I won't get sick. I'm done right now, I'll grab a bag of chips or something from the convenience store over there. Okay?"

"Fine. I need to get a phone anyway." 

She saw him back to the room, laid her leather jacket on the bed, pulled her nine from her back holster and laid it on the nightstand. "Here you go. I'll be back in the morning," she said, and turned to walk out the door.

"What? Where are you going?" he asked as she went to the door.

"I'm gonna go sleep in the back seat. Ain't the first time. See you in the mornin'." She was out the door before he could speak again, pulling it shut with a definitive click. He heard her boots walk by the window as he hurried to the door.

"Samantha," he called, opening it. "Samantha, don't do this, come back here."

She never even slowed her pace, turning the corner of the hallway, leaving him behind. 

  
  


The next morning she was in the room before he woke, sitting in the desk chair waiting patiently, reading using the light from the open bathroom door. "Samantha?"

"Yep." 

"Thank God. You didn't freeze."

"Nope. Ain't likely to." She turned the page. "You need me to turn my back or anything?"

"No," he said, sitting up. "I need you to tell me why you went to sleep in the car when --"

"You didn't want to share." She looked up. "You wanted your privacy. I gave it to you."

"That is not what I said, Samantha, not at all." 

"Well, that's what I heard. You want your own room, fine, but I'm cheap and I'm a damn wolf, I'm able to sleep in the car and not damn freeze."

"I was trying," he said carefully, "to think of your modesty and needs as a lady."

"Ain't no lady in the room. It's seven already, let's get a move on."

"Why do you do that?" He asked, exasperated. "I hate that, stop it."

"Not the boss of me, last I checked," she said, looking back down at her book. Which was torn from her hand a moment later, and only the fact of who was standing angrily glaring at her kept him from getting thrown across the room. "Back up. Don't push me, Oswald, I like you fine but you're pushing my buttons."

"And you're trampling mine," he hissed. "Why, Samantha? I try to treat you with courtesy and respect and you tear yourself apart and hurt yourself every time, why?"

She carefully shoved the chair back and stood up, getting out of his space. "I got my reasons. Just -- I'll go get some coffee --"

"Don't fucking move," he snarled. "Done. Done with this. Tell me."

"You don't scare me. That shit might play in Jersey, pussy ass Jersey boys, but I'm from Tennessee, I've fought hella bigger and meaner than you. And I told you before, I won't fight you."

"No, might hurt the poor traumatized Omega," he said mockingly. 

"I told you that ain't got nothin to do with it. Why do you want to fight, sugar, ain't no call for it, we're friends, ain't we?"

"I... Yes. We are. And I don't like when my friends hurt themselves. So tell me, and then stop. Stop it."

"Cause it ain't real, it ain't true, and I have to remind myself of that before I start hoping -- before I start believing it. Told you that the other day."

"Stop lying."

"Goddamn it, I got work to do tomorrow, I've got thirteen hours to drive and traffic to fight, I ain't got the energy to spare for this this morning." She walked past him, snarling when he grabbed her wrist. "Let go."

"No. I'm tired of this too, Samantha, believe it or not. Just tell me."

"No. Now let me go." Instead he tugged to pull her closer, watched her reactions. 

"You're afraid. Of something, I can see it, I can all but taste it, Samantha, tell me..." He pleaded. 

"Let me go."

"No."

"Damn it, I will pry your fingers off me, that ain't fighting, let me go, please."

"Tell me."

"I ain't scared of nothin'. Let me --"

He realized it just between one breath and another, and dropped her wrist as if it burned him. "Me. You're afraid of me, not physically but... emotionally? Samantha?"

"Fuck," she said, and backed away. "Goddamn it, you had to push, you had to push, I ain't doin' nothin', ain't planning on it, please don't be scared of me now..."

"Scared? Of you? Never."

"Good. Now can we get on with our morning, please?" She took a step backwards, another, before he spoke again.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"You know. You've been weird about money, you insist you don't like jewelry, or no, it gets broken, that's it. Why me, then? Pity? I don't want --"

"No, no, no!" She insisted. "Ain't you got mirrors, darlin? You're awful damn fine, even wearin mountain gear, and when you're all dressed fine I could just die. I looked up pictures on my phone, I could, I could just damn die, you're so fine." She paused, went on, "I seen one from last year, the opera season opening, you had some pretty fancy lady on your arm wearin a backless dress. You looked happy and sweet and, and I can't compete with that. All I gots a mountain and a car and a motorcycle, a good eye and a fast gun hand."

"The Marriage of Figaro. Her name is Lucinda, and she was obviously after the... thrill, we'll say, of being a mob boss' date. The notoriety. Which is also something that doesn't interest you. You'd rather stay on the mountain."

"I would. But look, this don't change nothin' --"

"Only everything," he disagreed. "Only everything, Samantha."

"No it don't. I'm still your friend, I ain't makin' no moves, I ain't made no moves."

"No. You haven't. Why?"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Oswald. I'm an Alpha. I reckon you ain't never gonna want another of us, Amy don't, she only fucks Betas now." 

"Thanks so for deciding what I want," he snapped. "I'm not broken, Samantha, just...just a little worse for wear."

"Oswald. Have you ever willingly had an Alpha? Even just dated one?" she asked. 

"No, but --"

"And I don't see that changin'," she said. "So let's just forget we ever had this conversation. I'm gonna go down and get some coffee, you want some?"

"You're running again, and we don't have a schedule, Samantha. We can stay another night if we need to. I want to talk with you, I want you to talk with me. Please?"

Her hands jammed hard in her pockets, she backed herself against the wall, raised one booted foot to it. "I'd really rather not. Not way the hell away from home. Not with a thirteen hour drive to get through after."

"Why are you so nervous? This isn't that big a deal, is it? It's just...just instinct, most likely, for you. Or lust." She laughed.

"Been tellin' myself that ever since I picked your ass up out the rain. Guess what? It still don't ring true. I really don't want to talk about it. It ain't gonna change nothin' if we do. Ain't nothin' to talk about, is there?"

"I don't know. Is there?" The advantage to her standing against the wall was that she had nowhere to run to as he came closer. He watched her tremble, just a little, as he did, as he reached up to her cheek. "Is there, Samantha?"

"Don't play," she whispered. "Don't play, don't torture me, please, it's hard enough."

"Why do you think I would?"

"Cause you ain't mine to keep. And I don't know I could give you up. If. If there was somethin' to happen. So don't play." Her breath came hard and fast, her eyes closed as he stroked a thumb over her cheekbone. "Please, if you like me at all, don't play."

"I don't play games I can't win," he said. "Could I win this one?"

"It ain't a game, Oswald. Not at all. Not to me. So don't play pretend with the mountain girl. Please."

"You smell like apples and honey," he said, cupping her cheek. "I don't know what you see in the mirror, Samantha, but I can tell you what I see when I look at you. I see Boadica. Hippolyta, Diana, Artemis. A hunting nymph, a goddess who came back to earth. A warrior and a teacher of warriors, Scathach, do you know that name?" She nodded. "Yes. You're lovely and wild, and I promise, I will leave the lights on." Her eyes flew open just as he brought his lips to hers, insistent and demanding, licking at her lips until they opened for him, until he could explore her mouth, slowly, mapping and memorizing every movement that made her moan, made her whimper as he kissed her. 

"Oh Christ," she whispered when at last he let her go. "Jesus on his cross."

"Not playing." He said, still stroking her cheek. "Not playing, lovely Samantha." She swallowed, hard. 

"Cinnamon," she whispered. "Sweet cinnamon. What you scent of to me."

"Complementary. Compatible. Highly compatible," he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her again, feasting on her mouth, reveling in her responses, as she clutched at the undershirt he wore, every moan, whining as he drew away. He tugged at the neck of her shirt, found one of the scars, and pinned the hand she tried to use to push him away between them as he licked it, blew over it, kissed it.

"Fuck, Oswald," she hissed as he grabbed the open sides of her flannel and pulled them down over her biceps, tying the sides together, pinning her arms before drawing the knife she'd given him from his belt and cutting up the sleeves of her worn Harley shirt, exposing her shoulders completely. He purposely left her camisole straps alone; she'd said those were worse, and he knew she'd run if he tried. 

He mouthed, nipped, licked and kissed every scar he could see, drawing surprised cries from her with every movement, until finally he faced her again, flushed and shaking. "Beautiful, Samantha. You're beautiful. I don't give a fuck about your scars. Not even the others, but I know, I know you care, so I'm not…not pushing that boundary. Yet."

"Thank you," she said, trying, trying hard, not to cry. "I appreciate that." 

"I will. Don't doubt it," he said. "I will see them, no, hush," as she shook her head. "Hush. No, I will. And I promise, they won't matter any more than these did." He took her mouth again, tracing fingers over her now nearly bare shoulders, pressing her to the wall. "Want you," he rasped. "I want you so much. I want to hear you scream my name, Samantha, I want to know if I could say all three syllables of yours when I empty into you, I want you, God." He kissed her neck, her throat, as she gasped for air, tasted her once more, then stepped back, tugging the simple knot in her shirt loose as he did so. "But not now." 

Samantha's knees bent, and she squatted down, catching herself before she fell, watching him move away from her. "Gwyn's hounds and horn, Oswald," she said when she could speak. "Goddamn." She pushed herself back to her feet and took off her flannel, tore the rest of her shirt down the side and dropped it into the trash before putting her flannel back on and buttoning it properly. 

"So," he said as he came back out of the bathroom, fresh shirt on, hair brushed, "cinnamon?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "Sweet cinnamon. Like cinnamon rolls, or coffee cake."

"How interesting. Will you be all right wearing that, or did you bring a change of clothes?"

"You just cut up my fresh shirt," she said, nodding toward the wastebasket.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she could tell he didn't mean it, too much mischief in his eyes. "Well, I suppose the one from yesterday would do."

"Reckon it's gonna have to, till we get to Wal-Mart at least. I'll get a new one there, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask if you'll pay for it. I'm real close to busted. I got enough for gas to get home --"

He laughed at her, a real laugh. "Did you forget? Half, Samantha. You'll be rolling in it in about…" he looked at his watch. "Five hours, give or take. Breakfast, Wal-Mart for bags and a shirt, banks one and two, lunch, bank three, and then I suppose you'd like to get on the road after."

"It ain't in my hand yet, and I ain't fool enough to count it till it is," she said. 

"It will be," he said as he picked up his bag. "Very, very shortly."

She walked behind him into the bank, waited for him to be waited on, for him to gesture for her to accompany him into the safe deposit room. Her jaw dropped when he opened the box. "Jesus Christ on his cross, I ain't ever," she said as she looked at the money in the box. "Fuckall, I don't know we got enough bags if you've got two more like this."

"We'll get more," he said tersely. "Let's fill them up." He would count it later, in some anonymous hotel room. Give her her cut, and see what happened when she realized how much it actually was. Half of all three would be between fifteen and twenty million, depending. Could she carry this much? He wondered as they filled the bags. A million dollars in hundreds weighed twenty pounds, this was mixed, mostly smaller bills, could she? She was strong, he knew, and Alpha on top of it, but he was concerned. 

He needn't have worried. She picked up the four bags with ease, two in each hand. She had to be carrying…he did the math as they walked out of the bank. Between three hundred and five hundred pounds, at least, dear God. Possibly more. She put the bags in the trunk, shut it, and joined him in the car. "Where to next?"

"Just a few blocks over." He directed her to the next branch. Same routine, though this time she carried five bags out. 

"Gonna have to get more bags, darlin', we've only got three left," she said. "This is…weird. Endorphins, I don't know, like I'm getting away with something, but we're not doing anything wrong."

"It's walking out of a bank with that much money," he said, leaning against the door. "It makes you feel as if you've robbed it, whether you have or not." She looked over at him. "Yes. I have. And it's an even bigger high, trust me." He smiled at her, and she could see the predator there, the dangerous man he was in the dark city a few hours away. "Like killing. It can be such a high."

"That, I have experience with," she said, nodding. "And yes, it certainly can be. But we do need more bags, at least two more, I don't know."

"The next one's the biggest, and you shouldn't be afraid to make two trips if you need to," he said. "Probably eight bags, total. But it is mostly hundreds, if I remember correctly."

"Oswald?"

"Yes, Samantha?"

"At an estimate, how much money is in my trunk right now?"

"Oh. Estimate? High or low?"

"Lowball it for me, darlin'."

"Lowballing, about fifteen million. Highball…twenty-five."

"Sweet dear Lord Jesus Christ," she muttered. "And I thought I was doin' fine when I got five grand for runnin' weed up from Alabama."

"You did that? Smuggled marijuana?" The tone of surprise in his voice made her laugh.

"Baby, I've run weed, I've run shine, I've…I think I ran guns once, but I don't know, I didn't ask any questions on that trip. Nicky and Randy have done the same." She saw a Wal-Mart, pulled into it. "You sound surprised."

"I am, I thought you only did mercenary jobs and perhaps one of you got a disability check to help with things."

"Nope. Merc jobs, we have done those, several of them, but we have to have somebody at home with Amy. We ain't ever losing her again. Ever." She parked the car. "How are you feelin'? You want to wait out here, or --"

"No. I'm fine, Samantha. I'll rest later. We'll rest later," he corrected himself. "Lunch after this, though, I'm starting to get hungry."

"Yep. Not a problem. Do you have a preference?"

"No. Do you mind eating in the car?"

"Yes, but I'll make an exception for you. You're neat. I don't let the boys or Amy, though, so don't tell them." 

  
  


She looked, on the way out of town, for somewhere deserted, somewhere she could pull in and arrange things proper. She didn't trust their luck, they'd been far too lucky too long in her mind, and she didn't want any state trooper pulling her over to decide he wanted to go through her trunk and find all the money, accuse them of doing something wrong. They hadn't, but she didn't trust cops. She finally found it, a closed down gas station, and pulled in, found a way around the back. 

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"You'll see if you want to get out," she said as she killed the engine. She got out of the car, popped the trunk, and started pulling out bags as he watched to the side. "Keep an eye out for other cars," she said as she pulled up the carpet of the trunk, pulled back the sliding door for contraband, and started putting the bags in it. "I don't know I can fit'em all, but…"

"You really did. You're a drug smuggler."

"Seriously, no. Just weed. Weed don't hurt nobody, and I don't know why the government won't legalize it," she said as she worked. All but two. Dang. Well, they could go in the back seat, then, in the floorboards. Five minutes later, they were on the road again, and he was staring. "Take a damn picture, it'll last longer," she said, coloring a bit as she got back on the interstate, heading west.

"You are full of surprises, Samantha. Full of them," he said, a touch of wonder in his voice. "I really couldn't have found anyone better to save me."

"Probably not," she admitted. "We're all a little crazy, we're all killers, and we're all loyal as hell. And that reminds me. Do you have Pack at all, Oswald?"

"No," he said. "Not really. I have…two, three people. Not Pack as you call it, but loyal, yes."

"Okay. I needed to know, because a person can't hold two PackBonds." She shifted again as she passed a big rig, watched her speed. She didn't want to get caught speeding. Not with what she was hauling. 

"Oh, no, I've never had one of those," he said. "I was…it was just Mother and I. Growing up. And she's gone, she's been gone for several years now."

"I'm sorry," Samantha said. "I know it's hard to deal with, losing a parent."

"It was." That was all he would say, all he could say, about that. 

"Do you want to try to get home, or do you want --"

"No. Let's stop in an hour or so. We may spend two nights. Is that all right with you?"

"Sure," she said. "If that’s what you need, darlin'. I'm hell on earth to get you what you need."

"Two rooms, Samantha," he said, a warning note in his voice, and she sighed, but nodded. "Adjoining. Please."

"Whatever you want, honey." She turned her hand over on the gear shift, opened it and waited. It took a minute, but she felt long fingers slide into hers, interlock and squeeze for a brief moment before letting go. 

"You're going to need to shift again," he said as he did so. "I don't want to slow you down."

"I know. Why don't you look at my iPod and see if there's anything on there you want to hear?"

"You're giving up control of the tunes? Dear God. You love me." He did, scrolling through her playlists, her albums. "What's the song you and Randy play all the time about the dress?"

"The dress? Can you hum a little for me, or sing some of it?"

"I am in no way musically talented, Samantha." 

"Darlin', I just need the tune, or an approximation of it," she said. "Wait. Um. Corb Lund. Devil's Best Dress? Is that it?"

"I think so. I'll know it when we hear it." He played with her iPod a moment until the chords hit through the speaker, nodded. "Yes, that's it. Your song, Samantha. This and one other." He waited for the last chorus to tap her hand to get her attention, saying the words along with it. "I can't say I love you, I don't hardly know you."

"They warned me 'bout you from the start," she sang to him. "They said don't you cross him if you don't want a hole in your heart.' Yep. Well, I ain't plannin' on crossin' you, darlin'." Hammer down, they sped across Pennsylvania.

  
  
  


She carried all of the bags into his room at his request, left him the nine millimeter and went to her room, barely got her boots off before she passed out. She'd slept the night before, but not well. She woke a few hours later to him shaking her, saying her name worriedly. "Huh? What?" 

"You sounded like you were dying," he said, sitting down beside her. "You were gasping for breath. As if you were drowning."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, that's…I was…it's from the sandbox. Sorry if I worried you. Thank you for waking me up." She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry. It happens."

"Often?"

"Oh. Once every two weeks? Three? I don't know." She shrugged. "I usually just get on up when it does, sleep sure ain't comin' back. I'll try to go back to sleep in an hour or two though, still a long way from home and all." 

"You don't puppy pile for you," he realized. "Why, Samantha?"

"Everybody else needs their sleep. And I don't wake y'all up when I do that. You wouldn't have known if you'd been asleep. What time is it, by the way?" 

"About eleven thirty," he responded. "Would you mind going to get us something to eat, Samantha? I'm hungry again."

"Not at all. Let me wash my face and wake up a little more first. What do you want?"

"I have no idea what might be open around here. If nothing else, sandwiches or something. Please?"

"Sure." She rubbed the heels of her palms over her eyes again and stood up, went into the bathroom. When she came back out, he was in the other room again, the door mostly shut. She tapped on it.

"Come in."

The bed and half the floor were covered in money, covered, she couldn't see the bed at all. "The hell are you doin'?" she asked as she stepped just inside.

"Counting. So far, your cut comes to five," he said from the chair he'd drawn up beside the bed. "I expect to be done sometime tomorrow morning. We'll stay another night, if you don't mind."

"I don't, I'll have to call the boys and let them know. Jesus. Okay. Well, I actually came to --"

"Those bags," he nodded toward two bags on the floor near the door. "Your cut so far."

"So far? You said half and you had between five and ten, Oswald, this would be more than enough for us --"

"I said half," he said. "The plan changed somewhat, didn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but…Gwyn's horn. You've got to be kiddin' me." Her jaw dropped. "No. No, you're funnin'."

"I have never been accused of being a man of my word," he said. "However, when I think about what you've done, what the Pack has done, I find it almost impossible to break it. Half, Samantha. It will still leave me more than enough to do whatever I like."

She couldn't speak. If he had already counted out ten million, and there was still that much left uncounted, how much had he had put back? What had he been scared for? And if those were caches in just one city, sweet Lord, how many others did he have? 

"Food, Samantha, please? Remember?" his voice jarred her out of her thoughts.

"Sure, sugar. I'll be back in half an hour at best, an hour at worst," she said, bending down and rifling through one of the bags near her, pulling three twenties from it. "Don't answer a knock, I'll use the key, and I'll come in through my door." 

"Certainly," he said. "Would you mind coming here first?"

"What do you need, darlin'?" she asked as she came over, started to squat down beside him to be tugged closer by her shirt, a sweet, short kiss shared. 

"That. Now go, I'm hungry."

"I wasn't gonna leave without kissing you, silly feller," she said as she headed for the door. 

"Good. Don't ever. You're becoming a necessity for my peace of mind." She stopped in the doorway, looked back and shook her head before leaving. He heard her door shut, and leaned back, looked at the work that had been done, the work that was yet to be done. Damn. Paranoia was a wonderful disease to have when it came to contingency plans. "It's not paranoia when they really are out to get you," he murmured to himself. "And someone was. Ergo, I was not paranoid. I was prepared. For the wrong thing entirely," he admitted with a chuckle, "but prepared."

  
  
  


She came back with sandwiches from a truck stop place forty minutes later, enough for them to have for breakfast in the morning, too, if he wanted. "I already told the front desk we were staying another night, too," she said. "Told'em you got sick, we wouldn't be able to leave in the morning. I gotta go pay for the second night in the morning." 

"That's fine." He was ravenous, tearing into his second sandwich already, sitting in her room.

"We get home, we got to set you up with therapy, darlin'. And an OB," she said. 

"I know. The therapy I'm not so sure of, but the OB I agree with. I'm sure Amy could deliver in a pinch, but I'd rather not if we can help it."

"Same here on that, but darlin', you really do need to…to work it out. Especially if you want to go home someday. You can't hide on my mountain forever, no matter whether I want you to or not."

"I want to share my world with you, as you've shared yours with me," he said. "To show you Gotham as it can be. The sun rising over the harbor, for example. It's heartbreakingly lovely."

"I'm sure it is. And counseling and therapy and hard damn work will get you where you need to be to do that without almost trembling yourself to death. I saw, today. Even with me there."

"True. You're too observant, Samantha Jane."

"No such thing. I have to see things to keep you, to keep everybody, safe." She opened her second sandwich, took a bite. "Boys said we ought to put a trailer in or build on to the house when the babies come. I'm leanin' toward a trailer. Central heat and air'd be better for'em than the wood stove and the ceilin' fans." 

"Please do, if you think it would be the right choice. I have to agree, actually, especially after what you said last week."

"Still, if you lose power, it can be deadly," she said. 

"And we'll pack them up and bring them to the…the Pack house then," he replied. 

"I like that. You mean the homeplace, but I like that." She wrapped the rest of her sandwich up and put it back on the table. "I've still got to call Council and ask about whether the rest of the Pack want to keep the babies for you. And I've been thinkin' on that, too."

"Hmm?"

"The birth certificates. The sire's name. I figure you don't want to put his down."

"Dear God no. He'll be looking for that, or some form of it, I'm sure, electronically. If he's still alive. And even if he's not, no." 

"You can use mine. If you want."

"Samantha. Samantha, are you sure?" he asked, reaching for her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Hell, if I'm gonna be raisin'em, they're mine anyway. May as well make it legal. An' you remember that, if things get bad, you just pretend they're mine, darlin'. Their sire, did he have dark hair and eyes, too?"

"Yes. He does. Darker eyes than yours, his don't turn golden. They turn black." He shuddered, and she dropped to her knees before him.

"Don't, don't, honey. He ain't here. He ain't never gonna touch you again, if your fella in Gotham don't kill him, I will. I'll cut out his eyes for lookin' at you, I'll cut out his tongue for what he did, I'll cut his hands off for touchin' you, swear to God."

"So lovely when you're plotting, darling," he mused as he ran his hand through her hair.

"That's the only --" he laid a finger on her lips. "Sorry."

"That's better. You're lovely all the time, Samantha. Just more so when I can see your huntress peeking through your eyes." He bent and kissed her again. "Try to get some more sleep. I need to get back to it."

"Sure," she said, scrambling backwards as he stood, looking down at her.

"The picture you make. Not tonight. Not yet, not for some time yet, but you on your knees…Troy fell for less." He reached down and helped her up. "It did, I promise you." He left her standing, blushing, in the middle of the room, and he smiled as he walked away. 

  
  


Sometime between eight and nine the next morning, he collapsed onto the now cleared bed, his arm over his eyes. Forty-two million. He'd hidden forty-two million dollars, give or take a thousand, in Philadelphia alone. How much had he hidden away, then? There were eight boxes in Albany and New York City. Four in Chicago. One in Atlantic City, two in Metropolis, one in D.C. Laying there, exhausted, he thought for a moment of just retiring. 

He could. He could see it. Raising the children, holding Samantha at night, helping her organize things, maybe start a business, a legitimate one. A motorcycle shop or something, a bookstore, she'd like either of those, she'd like both of them. He could do that, he could help her with something like that. No, it wouldn’t be the challenge that his work had been, but he would be able to watch the children grow, perhaps (frighteningly tempting thought) have more with her in a few years. It could be a good life, even a fulfilling life, in its fashion. A life he could not have if he returned to Gotham. 

Going home, he would have to hide again, hide her away if he were able to keep her at all, seeing her only in stolen moments. He would have to watch the children grow up in videos, in pictures, in quick visits between the mountain and the city. But he would be able to wreak his revenge, he would control his city again, he would be…

…did he want to be the Penguin again?

Was it worth the price? Was the power, the money, the grudging (always grudging) respect of his colleagues worth giving up his children? If it meant giving up a woman, an Alpha, who he could trust to always protect, always provide, always ensure his well being and his children's before anything else? He had money. He had enough, between them they had enough right now to never want, never, them or the Pack, and to leave the children more than enough for a good start in life. He didn't…he didn't have to go home. The thought was terrifyingly true, though, because even if this…connection…he and Samantha were building didn't work out, again, he had more than enough money to go collect the other caches and just disappear. Just…vanish. 

This would take much more reflection, when he wasn't tired. A great deal more. 

  
  
  


It was growing dark when he woke at last, the motel room beginning to drown in shadow. He sat up, turned on the bedside light. A bottle of fruit juice and a bottle of water were on the nightstand, both tucked into the motel ice buckets, drowning in a slurry of half melted ice. Beside them was a large bunch of grapes on a pile of damp napkins. Samantha was so sweet. And quiet, he realized; he hadn't even heard her. But he had been very tired.

The connecting door between their rooms was mostly closed, and when he opened it, he saw her sprawled out over the other bed, a book beside her left hand, her gun close to her right. Her chest rose and fell evenly, and the edge of her shirt had ridden up her stomach, just a bit, just a bit. Scar tissue peeked out from between the edge of her shirt and her jeans, ugly and dark. Her stomach, too? Was there any part of Samantha that hadn't been torn apart and roughly put back together?

"Samantha," he called softly, and watched her hand drop to the gun beside her as her eyes opened, as she looked around.

"Hey, darlin'," she said, seeing him in the doorway. "You rested?"

"More than I was, though I'll probably sleep more later," he said as he crossed the room to her side. "How was your day?"

"Quiet," she said, moving the gun to her other side so he could sit beside her. 

"Do you always sleep with firearms?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Only off the mountain. Knives at home," she said. "You've been in my bed, didn't you notice the sheaths on the bedpost?"

"Not particularly, no. You left at some point?"

"Yeah, went and found a supermarket. We didn't eat good yesterday, I wanted to get you somethin' nice. Besides, the babies need it, fresh stuff. Thought about strawberries --"

"No," he said. "No strawberries, I don't ever want to smell another strawberry in my life." He took a deep breath. "No strawberries, please."

"Okay," she said, taking his hand. "Okay, no strawberries, no problem. Might be come summer next year, we usually go pick and make preserves, but we can figure something out around it." His hand trembled in hers, and she sat up better, tried to get closer. "You don't have to talk about it, but just tell me how I can make it better, darlin'. How can I make it better?"

"You already are," he said, and squeezed the hand he held. "I promise." 

"So what's the plan now? Head for home in the morning?"

"So far, yes." He watched her toy with the book beside her for a second before she braced her shoulders, took a breath. 

"Not a game," she said. "Ain't a game to me. I'm awful damn fond of you," she looked up. "Awful fond. You get that, right?"

"I do. And I'm very partial to you. I have been almost from the first night, Samantha, it tore me apart hearing you offer to sell yourself to get the collar off, if necessary."

"Oh, he wouldn't have charged price on that," she waved it off. "And I know he wouldn't have. He was chained once. But I don't want to talk about him right now. Oswald. Are you sure you want to…see where this goes?"

"Are you?"

"I do. But I just want to make sure it ain't, like, misplaced gratitude or something. I don't want that." She drew her knees up to her chest, hugged around them with her free arm. "Like I said, I'm real fond. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us."

"It's not misplaced gratitude. I know the difference. You're…I'm going to say nice things about you. Fair warning." She laughed. "You are lovely, intelligent, kind, and compassionate, and I find you endlessly fascinating, Samantha."

"Damn if I know why, though," she said, shaking her head. "Darlin', hear me out; not even talkin' about my scars. I'm not educated, I really don't have anything, like I said yesterday, I got a mountain, a car, a motorcycle, a good eye and a fast draw. I'm real good at killing. That's about it."

He leaned over her and picked up her book, tossed it on the nightstand. "You read Solzhenitsyn for pleasure, oh yes, tell me again how ignorant you are," he deadpanned. 

"I'm being serious," she said. 

"So am I. You don't care about the money. You don't care for, as you call them, baubles. You don't care about clothes or social standing or notoriety."

"Because those things don't matter to me," she said. 

"But that's what I have. That's what I can give, and you don't care for those things, and it leaves us both in the same place, Samantha. You feel you don't have anything to offer me, I feel I have very little to offer you."

"You could have any woman in your city, honey, I'm just…it's not my damn scars, either. It's the totality of myself. I'm just…a little lesser, I think, than probably anybody you've been with before --"

Exasperated, he rolled his eyes. "Samantha, believe me, if you're good enough for a demigod, you're good enough for me."

"Oh, Lord. Oswald, that wasn't a relationship. He paid me for my company, or I was payin' him for a favor, that ain't fair, don't throw that at me. At best, at the very best, he's my friend."

"Still. Tough act to follow," he muttered, picking at the covers with his free hand. 

"Yeah, I can get where you might feel that way. But there wasn't anything…emotional to that. I'm not attached to him like that. I don't care about him like I already do about you. And I just…I just wanted to try to figure out what we're doin', what we both want out of this. So tell me. What do you want?"

"I don't know," he said after a few minutes. "More than…more than just a physical thing. To see where this goes, Samantha. Because I meant what I said last night, you are, you are rapidly becoming a necessity. I want to know you. I want…more than the physical. That's all I know. This is not something I'm good at, not a…not something I have very much experience with."

"You mean relationships?"

"Exactly that."

"Okay. Well, you're doin' real well so far," she laughed. "At least we're talkin'. Communicating."

"And we are compatible, the complementary scents tell us that," he mused. 

"That's true," she agreed. "Though I tend to take that with a…you can be compatible as all hell, if you don't work on things, if you don’t communicate, it can still fall apart. Hell, I've known bondmates who couldn't live together."

"Really? I thought once you bonded, it was…set. In stone."

"Lord, no. I mean, there's some things that come easier, sure, but…in service. I served with a fella named Brandon, he was okay, wasn't a great Marine but he did his job, you know. He was like that with his partner, they just…they loved each other, but they couldn't live together. Brandon lived on base, his partner would live in town wherever he was stationed. And he'd go see him on weekends or whatever, but he'd come back to base just as pissed off as a wet cat about half the time, 'cause they each wanted different things, really," she shrugged. "They bonded real young."

"They stayed together, though."

"Well, yeah, but wasn't either one of'em happy, sugar. And they could have been. They just didn't damn work on shit and communicate proper," she shrugged. "So that's all I'm sayin', the scent thing, it's awesome and all, but compatible doesn't mean we don't have to work at it."

"Turnabout, then. What do you want?" he asked. 

"I want the same thing you do. I want more than the physical, I want to know you. I get the feelin' not a lot of people do. I get more than that, I get the feelin' not a lot of people have tried to know you real well. And that's a cryin' damn shame." She let go of her knees and curled her legs behind her, moving closer to him. "I ain't perfect. I'm gonna lose my temper and raise my voice and whatnot. But I won't ever raise a hand. And I won't ever use tone. My word."

"That's why you said you wouldn't fight me."

"That's why. I'd rather be gutshot again --" she dropped her face and shook her head before facing him again. "Hell. I would, though. I'd rather be gutshot again than ever hurt you, darlin'."

"Again. You were gutshot. Overseas?"

"Yep. Gutshot and took a couple bullets through the lung. 'S why my boob's fucked up, why my stomach's fucked up. 'S why my dream…it's why I sounded weird when I dreamed last night. Couldn't breathe, and when I remember it, when I flash back to it, same thing happens."

"Why weren't you wearing body armor? Why --"

" 'Cause Alpha Battalion got the shit end of the stick when it come to stuff like that. Always more Alphas, that's the way the quartermasters think," she snorted. "Always more meat for the grinder. And body armor for women…I ain't real well endowed anyway, I wasn't ever built for comfort, I'm built for speed. But there just wasn't ever a whole lot to go around," she sighed. "But I really don't want to talk about that. Please?"

"Of course," he agreed. "And the same. I'll never raise a hand to you. I may throw things, I may break things --"

"Oh God, we're a pair then," she grinned. 

"I won't share," he warned her. "I don't share."

"I wouldn’t ask you to. Honey, I haven't been in Smith's bed since March. You saw me turn him away the other night. No. I'm your girl now." She smiled and leaned in closer. "Come here and kiss me, sugar, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page." 

  
  
  
  


"You haven't asked what your cut came out to," he said an hour later, after she'd brought back dinner. 

"Figured you'd tell me eventually, honey, and talkin' about us is more important. As is kissin' you," she laughed. "The money ain't goin' nowhere."

"And neither am I. Samantha, take this seriously, please."

"Okay," she agreed, smiling. "As serious as I can."

"You might want to go ahead and just get on the floor, you tend to fall down when you're shocked," he teased her, and she grinned before sliding from her chair, sitting cross legged on the floor. 

"My life's been one big ass shock since I found you, darlin'. But go ahead."

"Your half comes out to twenty-one million," he said, sitting back and watching her. The blood ran from her face, and she had to put her arms out behind her to brace herself. Yes, she would have fallen. 

"You can't be serious, Oswald, you can't."

"I am very serious. I don't joke about money, Samantha. Or business. Twenty-one million dollars." 

"Jesus Christ on his cross," she said, and leaned forward, her forehead touching the floor. "I can't -- that's -- what the fuck were you preparing for, to have forty million plus in a bunch of deposit boxes, Jesus, baby!"

"In case of indictments, or in case there was an…insurrection, we'll say," he shrugged. "I don’t care for jail, I don't look good in orange."

"I don't think jail orange is anybody's color," she said as she rose again. "Jesus. Gonna pull a Whitey?" His eyes widened as he realized she was talking about the infamous Whitey Bulger, the Boston gangster who had lived on the run for over a decade.

"That was the plan. Except I'm much smarter than he was. Congratulations, you won the lottery, Samantha, what are you going to do with twenty-one million?"

"Nope. It don't work that way. It gets split even, five apiece, with a million for the mountain," she said. "Lord God. I can't even…thank you, Oswald, thank you so much, baby."

"It still can't scratch what you did for me, Samantha. Pocket change, as I said." 

"Jesus, if forty million plus is pocket change --"

"I have more. Caches. Different cities. Still, you won the lottery. What are you going to do with your five, then?"

"Christ. Without the IRS breathing down my neck?" she shook her head. "I'm not sure yet. It's not real yet, let me think about it."

"And you call yourself uneducated. How very clever of you to think about that," he said, surprised she had.

"Fuck the IRS, fuck the revenuers," she muttered. "Bastard bloodsuckers. Yeah. Um. I just don't know yet." She laughed. "Amy'll buy enough yarn and cross stitch shit to fill her room full. Lord. Tell you one thing certain sure, come next summer, you have the babies and we'll go down and see if we can ride Fantasy all the way to Key West."

"I burn too easily."

"Bet you do. So pretty pale, though, darlin', like dreams of moonlight," she smiled at him. "I'll study on it, though. Sure will."

"Do that," he said, amused, and pulled out his phone. "Excuse me a few minutes, Samantha. No, stay," he said as she started to stand. "Just…I need to call home." Long fingers trembled as he punched in Gabe's number, tried to think of what to say in the text. Settled for the simplest. "Call me. c--}" 

Five minutes later, the phone rang, and he answered with closed eyes. "Gabe?"

"Boss!" His most trusted associate all but shouted into the phone. "Where the hell are you? Where've you been, Christ, we all thought you was dead, Boss, where --"

"I'm fine now. I don't want to go into where I've been or what's happened, not now. What's going on at home?" he asked. "How are things, how's Butch, how --"

"It's a fuckin' mess, Boss, it's a fuckin' mess. The Russians decided they was gonna try to bump up since you been gone, we took care of that but we lost Zsasz doing it --"

"What? No. No, I need him, goddamn it, I need him to --"

"-- and Nygma's lookin' for you, he's torn the fuckin' city apart lookin' for you, Boss, I don't know what happened between youse guys but you stay the fuck away, if you're someplace safe, stay the fuck away. Tell me what to do, me and Butch'll do whatever you say, but Nygma's crazy as fuck."

"Shit," he sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Zsasz is dead? You're sure?"

"I seen him get shot, if he lived through it, he's a fuckin' Feyrie. Took three to the chest, Boss."

"Fuck. And now? You took care of the Russians, what about the Triads? Have they moved at all?"

"Not so far, thank fuck. Everything else, we got a couple minor fellas tryin' to push back some but I think we can handle that," Gabe said. Oswald could hear glasses and plates clinking, he assumed Gabe was in the kitchen office of the club. He pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to think. 

"Ed's looking for me, you said."

"Fuckin' tearing the city apart, yeah," Gabe confirmed. "Or he was, the whole summer. He backed off some now."

"Do not tell him, under no circumstances even breathe that you've heard from me, Gabe. Tell Butch. That's all."

"Not even Selina? Or Gordon, he was lookin' for you too. He was worried." You could have shown some of that concern earlier, James, he thought absently. 

"No, Gabe. And tell Butch the same. Tell no one you've heard from me."

"You got it, Boss, just…you're okay? You're not in any trouble?"

"I'm fine, thank you. No. I'm perfectly safe."

"Okay then. Yeah, everything else is pretty okay."

"Good. Keep up the good work, I'll see you as soon as I can, Gabe. I trust you, I trust your judgment." 

"Thanks, Boss. That means a lot."

"You deserve it. I haven't said it enough. Don't tell Selina, but if you see her…just make sure she's okay."

"I will. You be careful."

"I will. I'll call again." He hung up, laid the phone down carefully, before realizing he was crying again. "Fucking hormones," he cursed as Samantha brought him tissues. 

"It's okay," she said, kneeling beside him. "It's okay, baby. Everything okay at home?"

"No. Well, yes and no. Mostly, I suppose. Damn." 

"Can you talk about it, or would you rather not?" She asked, and he sighed.

"I can. But you have to promise you won't go off half-cocked over it."

"Sure. I promise." She got up and dragged her chair closer to him, sat down again. "Tell me what you want to, darlin', leave out what you need to."

"You've operated on my side of the street before, I don't think there's much I need to leave out. To begin with, apparently there was a turf war in my absence; my boys won, but at the cost of the hitman I had planned to hire to deal with…with…"

"With Shere Khan."


	3. Part 3

"Yes. With Shere Khan," he nodded. "And yes, I understand that you want him, Samantha. I do. But I don't want you anywhere near him."

"I ain't the only one," she said. "Brothers both want a piece, too. I don't think you know how close you are to bein' Pack, baby."

"Really?" he asked, and she could have cried at the surprise in his voice.

"Honey, lookit. You ain't been nothin' but helpful and good to us, even four foot, you helped out as you could. You put up with Amy bein' a princess Monday, you ain't bitched or complained, an' even when it made you uncomfortable, you helped with puppy pile a couple nights ago for Nicky. Meant a lot to him, baby, he told me so. Meant a lot to me. Oswald, we like you. It's only a matter of time before you get put up for Pack. And I don't think there'll be anybody speakin' against it."

"That's…that's very…none of you have seen me be rude and condescending yet," he tried to pass off. "I'm very good at that, very good at pushing people away."

"Yeah, reckon you can be," she said. "But that don't change the fact that we like you. That don't change the fact that we want you in the Pack. Ain't got a damn thing to do with the money, baby, Amy was talkin' about it the night we got the collar off. Up to you, if you want to. I ain't pushin'. But it will get brought up soon at Council."

"You really do run the Pack like the Jungle Book, don't you?" he asked, trying to distract her. 

"I do. Law of the Jungle makes sense, if you look at it. It's hard sometimes," she admitted. "It's hard to be both Raksha and Akela. But I make it work somehow. But the situation back home. You don't need to go back to see to things? Give orders and whatnot?"

"I can't with him still loose, Samantha, I can't --"

"Honey. Do you want to go home for a visit? See your friend? Make sure everything's goin' good? I can make it happen if you do, I just need a few days to plan it out and make sure everything's good at the house first."

"Mother. I -- I would -- please, I need to visit Mother's grave, Samantha, I do, I need that…"

"Then I'll make it happen, darlin'. Listen to me. I'll give you whatever I can, I'll do whatever you need me to do. Alpha fuckin' serves, baby. I need maps and I need the boys to plan it out. That's all. And it'll be quick; I don't want to be there more than forty-eight hours at the very most. But I'll make it happen, if we have to stand there with AR-15s, we'll make it happen." She paused. "But baby, the offer stands. I'll torture him, I'll kill him, whatever you want, but the offer stands."

"Not yet," he said, and drew her hand to his stomach. "Not yet. Not until…not until after, Samantha. Please. Wait until the babies get here. Then. Please. Stay with me until then."

"Oh, darlin'," she said. "All you had to say. After, then. We'll leave the babies with Kenny and Eena for a while, and we'll go hunting." Her eyes gleamed burnt gold, and he leant over to kiss her, still clasping her hand against him. 

  
  
  
  


They pulled in right at supper time the next day, and she parked in the circle behind the house, the boys and Amy coming out to greet them enthusiastically. "Y'all, Jesus, ain't like we been gone a long time," Samantha smiled, even as she hugged her sister. "Y'all get the work done I asked for?"

"Yes, Sissy," Amy said. "I counted up the propane tanks and the lamp oil, too, and tested the heaters for you."

"Well, good on you, baby girl. Did the boys get the plastic up? The pipes wrapped?"

"Yes, madam slave driver," Nick answered. "Even started stacking the dry wood on the porch."

"That's damn wonderful, and I'm proud as hell. Good on all y'all, I'll make scones for breakfast if we've got the stuff."

"Cherries and blueberries, yes, but we're out of raisins," Oswald said behind her. 

"It'll be okay," she shrugged. "Most everybody likes those ones best. Come on, boys, we got haulin' to do." She opened the trunk, pulled back the carpet, slid back the door. "Ten of these go in Oswald's room, ten of them go in mine, and we have to have Council, y'all. Have to."

"I cleaned out my room for you," Nick said as Oswald climbed slowly to the porch. "So's you could have space of your own."

"Thank you, Nick. I appreciate that." He turned at the top to watch her pick up four bags herself and sling them on the porch, Randy the only one able to do the same. 

"What's for supper, Randy?" she asked as she climbed the steps to start carrying the bags inside.

"Fried frog legs, taters, gravy and green beans," he said as he followed her. "We saved y'all a couple plates, we ate early."

"Sounds real good, LitterBrother. Baby, you don't mind frog legs, do you?"

"I've never had them. How --"

"Big frogs, bullfrogs. We gig'em in the summer down at the creek. I'll show you next summer," Randy promised. "Fried up, it's kind of a cross between chicken and fish. Have you ever had alligator?"

"Yes, twice. I liked that. Is it similar?"

"Yeah, pretty close. Hope you like'em," Randy said, smiling as they all went inside. 

"Okay," Samantha said after the bags were put away. "Okay, we're gonna eat, and then Council, and while he doesn't have voice, he's sitting in. And that's getting put up, too, y'all. Maybe not this Council, but soon."

"Oh, we can put it up this time," Nick said. "I ain't got a problem with it."

"You offering to pay the bloodprice?" Samantha asked, and Nick nodded. "Okay, then it's up for discussion, after we eat."

The glances and brushes of hands, the endearments Sammie dropped, did not go unnoticed by the Pack. Amy's smile was a mile wide, Randy's wasn't far behind. Nick hadn't noticed before, but seeing his LitterSister smile at Mowgli fondly…yeah. Nope, nope, nope, nope, noping right out of that thought. They wanted to get together, fine and all, Jesus Christ have mercy on anybody wantin' to cross Ross Pack now, he thought. And he reckoned they was gonna be making a road trip of their own soon, one to Gotham, to hunt down a dumbass fucker who'd dared try to hurt his LitterSister's feller. Watch out, motherfucker, Sammie's comin' and Hell's coming with her. No. Ross Pack was comin' with her, and news flash, fuckface, that was worse.

The Pack trouped out to the side porch, and Randy lit the fire pit, building it up slow to show Mowgli how to do it right. Amy brought blankets out in case anybody wanted them, and Sammie called Council. "Now here is the Law of the Jungle, as old and as true as the Sky."

"And the wolf who shall keep it may prosper, while the wolf who would break it must die," her siblings answered.

"As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the Law runneth forward and back," she said, and then all four of the Rosses said, "For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the Wolf is the strength of the Pack," in unison. 

"Akela sat up on Council Rock," Samantha began, "and called out, Look well, look well, O Wolves. And Father Wolf shoved Mowgli out there in front, and Akela never hesitated, just said again, Look well, look well, O Wolves. And so then do I. Oswald's worked with us, he's piled with us best he can, he's been good and loyal. Look well, look well, O Wolves."

"Bloodprice," Nick said, standing up. "It ain't deer season yet, but it will be soon enough. Tag limit's six this year. I'll fill out my limit, and two deer of those are bloodprice."

"Bloodprice is offered. Who will teach him the way of the Wolf, though? I can't. I'm…I'm prejudiced, and I won't do it right," Samantha said, blushing in the firelight.

"That's on me," Randy said, "though most of it he's shown he knows already."

"Done. Hathi, Baloo, Kaa, Mowgli, stand forward." Samantha was already getting to her feet. "Hathi. Explain."

"Now we're gonna each cut ourselves, just a little bit, and mix blood," Randy said. "It creates PackBond. If you don't want to be bound to us, now's the time to say so; we can wait."

"What exactly is PackBond? Samantha and Amy have both -- Raksha and Kaa mentioned it before, but didn't go into detail."

"Jesus Christ, what do they teach y'all city wolves? Don't know puppy pile, don't know PackBond…" Nick said before Randy cuffed him upside the head.

"PackBond is…I don't know that there's words to describe it," Randy answered. "It's a knowing. A knowing deep in your soul, in your spirit, that someone always loves you. Someone always will have your back, always, someone will always step up and help you if you need it. It's like lifebond, it can't be broken. It can't be misused. It can't…it can be ignored, but it hurts to do so. Pack comes first. Pack always comes first, and since you're carryin', if you swear while you're carryin', your children are automatically Pack, they'll be born with PackBond to us. And us to them."

"You'll never really be alone anymore," Amy said beside him. "Not that I think you would be anyway," she said, glancing at her sister on her other side.

"Never?" he asked, and the hope and despair in his tone just broke Samantha's heart.

"Never," Randy confirmed. "You'll have PackBrothers and a PackSister. No matter where you are, whether we're there or not. You'll never feel alone anymore."

"Wait. One PackSister, or --"

"I'm Alpha, and that makes that different," Samantha said. "Amy's my blood sister. It's different."

"I see. I agree." He waited to see how this would work. Nick, first, drew his fixed blade from his belt. "Help me, Randy."

"Gladly. Your left hand, please, your heart hand." Randy drew his clasp knife out. "Nick's gonna say, "For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf.' The response is, "And the strength of the Wolf is the Pack." That's how this goes, we're all gonna say it." He drew his blade over Oswald's palm, just deep enough to show a line of blood. "Raksha, I don't want to dig too deep," he said, and she nodded as she saw.

"It just has to be enough to mix," she said, and watched, waiting for her turn. "For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf," she said, smiling while tears glimmered.

"And the strength of the Wolf is the Pack," he responded, and kissed her hand. "Raksha."

"Welcome to Ross Pack, Mowgli," she said, and clung just a minute longer while her sibs cheered. "Come on now, y'all, we got other business to tend to. And you've got voice in the Council now, darlin'. You get to palaver, too." 

"Give the cut a second, you just joined with Sam," Randy said. "You'll scab up right quick now."

"Part of being Alpha of a Pack is sharing our gifts," she said to his puzzled look. "That includes healing just a little faster. Being just a little stronger, a little faster. That's why we're all so badass. Because I share."

"Are you serious --" he looked at the cut on his palm, and it was, it was already beginning to scab over. "My God."

"City wolves," Nick said, shaking his head. "They just don't Pack like we do."

"I've never heard of an Alpha sharing their ability, I didn't know it was possible," he said, and she nodded. 

"Among Pack, among…um. Mates. Bondmates. Alphas who share tend to lead stronger, more loyal, healthier Packs. Because everybody works together. The playin' field ain't completely even, the boys'll tell you that, I can still kick their asses one on one. But when they work together, they can take me."

Zsasz, he realized. That was what he did. With his girls.

"Anyway," Samantha went on, "Mowgli has something he needs to ask of the Pack. And we shall have a great deal of palaver on this subject, I think."

"The…the children," he began. "I don't…Raksha has agreed to let me stay until I'm…more balanced. But I can't take the children with me when I leave."

"Why not?" Amy asked beside him.

"I can't pass as Beta with children, Amy -- Kaa. And I need to, I must. To be who I am…off this mountain."

"To run Gotham, you mean," Nick said, leaning back. 

"Exactly."

"Oh, Lord. You want us to take'em on? Raise'em for you?" Amy asked, her eyes bright. 

"If the Pack agrees. Yes."

"Raksha, please," Amy turned to her sister and begged. "Please, Raksha, you know I'll be a good Mama, you know I will."

"You'll be a good Auntie," Samantha said. "I already offered to put my name as sire. That makes me Mama."

"Makes'em Rosses legal," Randy said. "That's good. They'll carry the name, if not the blood."

"We'll raise'em up right," Nick said. "Teach'em how to swim and hunt and howl, how to track and shoot and gut. I'm for it."

"Yeah. Me, too," Randy agreed.

"It's unanimous, then. Carryin' Ross babies, now, darlin'. Mine." Her canines dropped just a bit as she smiled. "Now, third order of business. What happened in Philly. Y'all need to know. Mowgli cleaned out all his caches there. Not just the one. And when he said half, he kept his word." She paused. "I'll be needing to make a few of our own here and there along the mountainside. Our half is twenty-one million."

"Jesus wept," Amy whispered, and neither of the boys could speak at all.

"That's five each, with a million to put back for taxes, for improvements to the land, to the house, buying a doublewide or a triplewide for Mowgli and the babies. Ain't no call for him to be uncomfortable." She smiled. "Now, I would remind y'all that the IRS looks awful askance at people who suddenly spend a bunch of money. I think the best thing to do is mortgage the front forty on the highway to buy that trailer, and pay it off. What do y'all think?"

"Makes sense," Randy said. "Fuck the IRS with a chainsaw sideways, by the way, but it makes sense. Covers our asses."

"True that. If you want a truck or whatever, get a loan, pay it off, ain't like you can't. We've all got decent credit. But don't be stupid. Don't get dumbass with it. I love all y'all, but y'all are grownups. Let's damn act like it, and keep the revenuers the hell away from our mountain." She waited for them to agree.

"Fourth order; we're goin' to Gotham next week, whirlwind trip, I don't want to be there more than forty-eight hours. At most, and I'd rather make it twenty-four. Mowgli's got business to take care of before he starts showin' too much, and he wants to visit his Mama's grave. I'm sayin' this right damn now, as much as it pains me. We will not be hunting Shere Khan this visit. Not this time."

"When?" Nick asked. "When do we get to hunt Shere Khan, Raksha?"

"Baby, that's on you. When will you cry havoc, and loose the dogs of war?" she asked, and he laughed.

"After I deliver. We talked about this, Raksha and I. And…and I want her near me until I deliver. Please."

"And I agreed. My word is the Pack's bond, you all know that. After, though, as soon as we can after, I'm asking Eena and Kenny to come stay with Amy and the babies, and we're going hunting. His death is Mowgli's. Final. Period. But we get to make him scream first. And I intend to make him scream a long, long time, y'all. A long time."

"Such pretty promises," he said, and she smiled.

"Every one a gift to you, darlin'. Every single one. Does anyone disagree with me on this?"

"We need to plan it out proper," Randy said, and Samantha nodded. "Make it an op, Raksha. I don't like going into the tiger's territory."

"Neither do I, but darlins, it was Mowgli's first. We're gonna be careful, we're gonna be slick as ice on the back steps. We'll plan it out. That's certain sure. Now, anything else? Does anyone else have any Pack business to bring up?" 

"I have a suggestion," Oswald said, and Samantha paused.

"Yes, Mowgli?"

"You're worried about the IRS and their…meddling in your business. Why?"

" 'Cause we're freelance operators," Nick said. "We ain't got day jobs, we ain't got W-2s and all that shit. We start droppin' cash like -- like we got now, and thank you kindly very, very much, PackBrother, we appreciate that more than you can dream, but we start droppin' cash that we can't account for, well here's Uncle Sam come to look over y'shoulder askin' where his damn cut is. Where'd you get that, son, and here let me take everydamnthing you got."

"I can fix that," Oswald said, leaning forward, eyes glittering in the firelight. "I have a dozen corporations that I use to hide money. Businesses under them. Let's see. Security consultants? I think that fits you all. On paper, you can be freelance security consultants with…God, I'll have to work it out. But that should cover you."

"Like 1099s?" Samantha asked, and at his nod, she smiled brightly. "Perfect. That's perfect, darlin'."

"And the best way to cover a lie is in the truth," Randy said from his place beside Nick. "Because isn't that what we're doing anyway? Being your security?"

"Exactly." 

"Then that works," Samantha said. "What do you need to get that done?"

"I'll make some calls tomorrow. I'll need you all, yes, Amy, you too, to fill out W-9s. Can you get those?"

"I'll run down to the library tomorrow and print them out," Randy said. "You can come with if you like."

"And while you're out, Randy, you need to get copies of keys for him, too," Samantha added. "You're Pack now, darlin'. You get a key to the house, a key to the garage, a key to the ATV, a key to the truck. Combinations for the gate locks."

"What about the room with the hasp lock --"

"No. No, you don't go near that room, that was Mama and Daddy's room, and they used meth in there. I don't want you anywhere near there, please."

"No, of course not. Thank you for telling me." One hand fell to his stomach. No. 

"You're welcome. Now, if that's all?" No one else spoke, so Samantha clapped her hands. "Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they. But the head and the hoof of the Law, and the haunch and the hump is --" all four of the Ross wolves decried in unison…

"Obey."

  
  
  
  


Fondness and contentment, gratitude and rough affection, concern and warmth. He couldn't tell, the next morning, whose feelings were whose when he woke. They cared, they actually cared, they weren't lying, they weren't…and that was the three. That was Nick and Randy and Amy. He could tell Samantha's from the rest, Samantha's were wrapped in desire, in fierce protective ardor. She cared. She cared. She wanted him, not yet, too soon, but she did. No less important, the Pack wanted him. It was real, it was true, and he'd never, never, felt so accepted. Such a part of a…a relationship, not like he and Samantha, but a relationship that went past friendship, to family, beyond that. 

A strange sound made him sit up and look into the floor, and he laughed when he saw them, Nick and Amy and Randy piled on the floor, as close to the bed as they could be. Why? Why hadn't they piled? Why -- they likely thought he wouldn't want that. After Nick. Had he shouted? He hadn't dreamed that he remembered. "Good morning," he said, sitting up. "What are all of you doing in here?"

Amy was first to wake and shift back, wrapping him in a hug that even Samantha's fervor barely matched. "You poor, poor man," she said as her brothers came to stand beside her. "Jesus Christ, how did you survive without Pack?"

"What --"

"The first thing Pack feels after PackBond sets is what the new member felt before," Randy said as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Sammie was in tears in the front room for half a damn hour. Wouldn't tell us why, but I think we all got the gist. Ain't gonna be like that no more, brother."

"Hell no," Nick growled. "Nobody treats my Pack like that."

"Nope," Samantha said from the door. "It ain't. Scones are ready, y'all. Go get dressed, let him get his bearings. It'll fade some over the next couple days, darlin', into the back of your mind more. Like mate bond does, or so I'm told. Come on, y'all. You come out when you're ready, darlin'." She stepped away from the door, let her siblings leave, before closing the door again.

Over buttered scones and coffee, Samantha laid out what she wanted. "Winter work is done, and I'm right proud of y'all. Amy, I looked over what you wrote about the tanks and the heaters, you did real well. Boys, I don't think I've ever seen the plastic so tight. I ain't crawled under to check the pipes yet, but I reckon I don't have to. I'm callin' the propane company today to fill up the big tank, and we'll go to town tomorrow to get the little ones and the lamp oil. Now Randy, you and Oswald are goin' to town today, right?"

"Yep," Randy answered. "That's the plan."

"Good. Y'all do that this morning, we'll split up this afternoon, you and Nick can stack the dry porch, I'll work on the green today."

"What about us, Sammie?" Amy asked, and Samantha grinned over her coffee cup.

"I want you two to ride the mountain. Find a decent level spot for the triplewide. It don't have to be cleared, we can clear it or have it cleared, but level. It'll take some time to get the plot prepared, get permits and all that shit, but I want it ready and set up before Thanksgivin' if we can. Definitely before Christmas."

"You want it close to the house, or --"

"Ain't gonna be my house," Samantha said, leaning back. "Gonna be Oswald's and the babies'. He chooses where it sits."

"I want it close. Next door, practically, not more than a ten minute walk," he insisted, buttering a scone. 

"We can do that, if you're sure," Samantha said. "There's room, not in the fence, but there's room on the other side of the access road. Decently level, I reckon, Nick would you take a look while they're gone this morning?"

"Sure will. And Sam, don't lie, you'll be over there more than here --"

"Thank you, Nick," she interrupted him. "Not the point. Baby, you want chain link fence or picket? Chain link's more likely to keep Feyrie away."

"Is that a problem?" he asked, and the four looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"They run this mountain pretty often," Nick said at last. "They like it here. Court of Annwn does, anyway. And you can blame your girl there for that."

"Shut up, Nick."

"He's Pack now, Sam, you should tell --"

"I will," she said, standing. "I will, in my own damn time. Don't push me, Nicholas Alexander." She poured another cup of coffee, leaned against the counter. "So everybody knows what needs done today?"

"Yeah, Sam," Randy answered her. "We got this. Anything else?"

"Nope. I'm gonna get on the green porch when I finish my coffee. Hope I can get it half done today, anyway." She sipped from her cup. "We get back from Gotham next week, we can just sit back and do nothin' till February, other than the daily shit, bringing wood in, sweeping the floors, cooking and stuff. Reckon I better get the game stuff out."

"Yeah!" Nick pumped his fist. "About damn time!"

"Can't help it, we been busy," she said. "Dungeons and Dragons, darlin', second edition. You ain't got to play if you don't want to." She snapped her fingers. "Amy, the other thing I want you to do today is find your old therapist's card. And call your nurse friends in town, find out who the best Omega OB is, and set up an appointment with'em."

"Oh, absolutely, Sam," Amy agreed. "I'll do that."

"Good girl. Baby, what name do you want to use here?"

"Austin Potter," he said after a moment. "I still look up at the first syllable."

"I like that, that's clever," Samantha smiled. "Do you want me to go to the appointment with you, or do you want Amy?"

"Would…would you mind Amy…"

"Not at all," she agreed. "Amy, you good for it?"

"Oh, yes. Absolutely."

"Excellent. I'll be out workin' on the green porches, then." She set her coffee cup in the sink along with the soaking dough bowls. She was already halfway across the yard when she heard the back door slam, and turned around to see him coming to the steps.

"Did you forget something, Samantha?"

"I ain't leavin'," she said, coming back anyway. "And I figured you wouldn't want one in front of the kids."

"Not in front of the "kids," now are we?" He asked as she came back up the steps, catching her by her jacket as she came level with him. 

"Nope," she agreed, a silly grin crossing her face. "Not at all." 

"And you're not leaving, exactly, but you're going to work, and that counts." He tugged her close to capture her lips, still warm from her coffee cup, and kissed her. 

"Damn but I'm a lucky bitch," she said, stepping backwards. 

"Don't," he warned. 

"Lucky woman, then. Sorry, baby."

"Better. Expect me to find you before we leave."

"Oh, I will. Have a good mornin', darlin'."

  
  
  
  


Nick looked over the field across the way from the main house before they left, and agreed it should be level enough to build on. He'd been surprised to learn that the troublemaker, the joker of the Pack, was actually a certified engineer. Randy was apparently a mechanic. Only Samantha had come out of the Armed Forces without any sort of secondary skill. "They expect Alpha Marines to die," Randy told him quietly on the way back from town. "Meat for the grinder. Betas, they don't throw us in the front lines like they do Alphas. So Sam looks at us as being the smart ones, because we have…we have occupations. She'll always look at people who use their minds rather than their backs with a little more awe. Including you. But she's not stupid. She has a brilliant tactical mind, and more than that, she can do a little of almost everything. A little plumbing, a little engine work, a little welding, a little of this and a little of that."

"And she can kill."

"She would tell you it's the only thing she's really good at," Randy nodded. "She's not stupid, though. Please don't underestimate her intelligence. Don't underestimate her. She'll do anything for the people she loves. It doesn't matter how impossible, she will find a way. Like when she found Amy. Kevin covered their tracks really well. And she found a way."

"Why aren't you and Nick working in your fields?"

"Nick tried. We mustered out and he found a job up in Louisville." Randy sighed. "I went with him, I worked in a garage up there for a while, but…but the flashbacks started getting too bad for him. He has them worse than I do, which is strange, we served side by side. Sam…she has them too. She thinks we don't know how bad, but we do." He glanced over at Oswald in the passenger seat. "Have you heard her gasping yet?"

"The other night. Yes."

"Yeah. Hell. Let's go to Sonic, get a limeade, I want a cherry limeade." Once they were parked with their drinks, Randy weighed how much to tell. Sam would have his head if he told too much, but if they were going to be together…

"Sam served in Marine Alpha Battalion, 4th Division. She saw a lot of action. A lot. She has a Purple Heart, she has a Silver Star, and a commendation for bravery," Randy began. "Which are all…they're not enough for what she carries. She's scarred from the waist up. Gutshot, she took seven bullets to the midsection, two to her right lung. Anyone else would have died, Oswald."

"Why didn't she? You've all danced around the subject, hinted that she's more than mortal--"

"Nick told her this morning she needs to tell you, she said she would, so I can't tell you. She is mortal, though, I promise, she's mortal. She's not Feyrie blood, none of us are. But that's not the point. One of the reasons she always has something to do, always has music playing, always has something in her hands or whatnot, is if she's still for more than ten minutes, she falls back into the memories. She's better than she was. She used to stay four foot for weeks on end. Or she'd stay up for days, just not sleep, until she collapsed. You need to know this, and she isn't going to tell you. Watch her --"

"I have. The distant look. Usually when she's tired."

"Yes. Watch for that look. She won't hurt you, she's never hurt anyone in her flashbacks, but she can get caught in them if she doesn't shake herself loose. She usually does, it takes her a minute, but she'll come back. It's usually the music that brings her back. So don't get irritated about the music. It keeps her sane."

"I won't. I haven't. I assumed it was that way for someone."

"Her. Nick and I, we're more…it's usually our dreams now. It was worse before, he got caught in one in his cubicle in Louisville, that's why we left, why we came home. I got a call at work, he was crying. He'd almost attacked his office manager. Come far too close. We packed up that night. At least out here, we knew Sammie'd…Sam could put us down if we needed it. Not kill us. But put us down. Keep us from hurting ourselves or someone else."

"What does she want, Randy? Out of life. What does she want to do?"

"Oh, hell, I don't even know anymore. She's put so much of herself into keeping us all put together…you'll have to ask her that. Right now, though, her main goal is keeping you safe and making you happy. I can tell you that."

  
  


Samantha threw another half dozen logs onto the side porch, straightened as she heard the truck coming up the drive, waved, and went back to work. She was on the porch stacking when he came around the corner of the porch, pressed her up against the porch post, and kissed her hard, needful, claiming. "You're not allowed to die," he said. "Not."

"Well that's real good, sugar, but you might want to talk to God about that --"

"Tell me. Everyone's hinted at it, Samantha. Tell me."

"Oh, hell," she sighed. "Not right now, darlin', I got work yet."

"Now," he insisted. "Right now."

"Christ on his cross. What did Randy tell you?"

"That's just it, he didn't! He told me you should have died overseas, they all seem to agree that something is different about you but no one will tell me why or what, and I need to know, Samantha. I need to know."

She picked up her bottle of water, looked at the work she'd gotten done, tried to gauge what was yet to be done. "Hell. Okay. Long story short? You ain't the first king I ever did a favor for." She took a long drink, hoping that would be enough, but when he only stood there, watching her, she shrugged. "Okay then, long story. So." She went to the chairs next to the wall, sat down in the shade. 

"So once upon a time," she began, "there was a little girl who ran this mountain all the time, knew it like the back of her hand, knew every holler, every little cave, every tree, practically. This was her granddaddy's mountain, and his daddy's before that, and it was gonna be hers one day." She drank again, waited for him to come sit down next to her. "And one misty spring mornin', she was runnin' up near where Council Rock is now, where Amy goes for heat now. It wasn't there then. And she heard a dog whinin'. Hurt." She kicked her long legs out in front of her, laid her head back against the chair, and closed her eyes.

"She went to see what it was. She didn't go get her granddaddy like she should have, she didn't go do anything damn practical because she was all of ten and she thought she was invincible. So she went to go see what it was. There was a puppy. There was a puppy, red and white, stuck in an old, had to be at least fifty years old 'cause Granddaddy didn't trap for bear, old, rusty bear trap. Pretty puppy. And there was a man on her mountain that she didn't know standing next to it, talkin' to it in a language that sounded like rain on the creek. Gentle. Soft. Liquid. The words were like liquid." She took another drink. 

"And the man heard the little girl coming, and looked up at her and said, won't you help me, Samantha Jane Ross? And little girl says, I will if I can. What do you need? And the man says, Lannis needs your help, and his sire is getting upset. And then she saw another dog, a bigger dog, damn near as big as a deer, standing over beside the puppy. And the little girl says, why don't you get him out the trap then?"

"And he couldn't."

"Nope, he couldn't. He said it'll burn me if I do, I've tried. So here comes this little girl who ain't even damn presented yet, regular strong, okay, strong 'cause she's mountain, but still. And that little girl had her knife on her belt. Very first knife. She'd just gotten it a couple months before for her birthday." She took a deep breath. "And she sat there and she pried and she pulled and she levered with her knife, and she finally got that damn trap open enough so's the man could pull the puppy's foot out the trap. And the trap snapped shut on her knife and broke it clean in two, broke the blade clean in two. It was cheap metal then. Her daddy got it for her, and her daddy wasn't ever one to spend a bunch of money."

He fingered the handle of the knife on his belt. This knife?

"Anyway," Samantha went on, "she looked up at the stranger and said, you gonna take him to the vet, mister? And that's when she saw. When she really saw who was standing in front of her." She sat up and leaned toward him, changing the viewpoint of the story. "Baby, I ain't never hit my knees so fast since. And begged pardon, begged pardon, 'cause it was one of the Shining Folk. Not just one of'em. But he wore a circlet. Wore the gold circlet, so's I knew it was a king from under the Hill, I just didn't know which one. And he laughed, baby. He laughed, and it was like…it was like bein' showered with rose petals."

"Which king? Which court?"

Samantha smiled. "He said, you have done me a service, Samantha Jane, and wounded yourself to do it, and broken that which you treasure most. So shall I see to you. And he reached out to where I'd cut myself, right here," she held out her left hand, drew a finger down a long white scar along her middle finger. "And he just touched it. That's all. Touched it. And it come back together. And then he called for Smith. That's how I met him. And the two of'em, I still don't know what they did proper 'cause to be honest, I didn't look. But between the two of'em, they fixed my knife. Your knife, now." 

She leaned over and kissed him. "Best thing I ever had, baby. Till you. Anyway. So Smith told me his name, told me how to get holt of him if I ever needed to. He didn't have to do that. But he did. An' when he left, left me alone with the King again, the King knelt down to look at me proper. And he said, those are the things I owed you for bleeding for me, for breaking your things for me. Now here is the gift I give you, Samantha Jane, for saving a life without thought of recompense. My name is, and he told me his name. Can you repeat it? And I did. And he had me say it again." She looked away, took a long breath.

"He asked if I knew who he was then, and I said yes. You're Death's Hunter. And he laughed at me again, and agreed. He says, I have a horse. I have a horse of night, with eyes of starlight. His bridle shines in the moonlight, and his hooves ring as bells as he prances. That horse has a match the same. When you are ready, Samantha. When you are ready for me to come for you, I shall bring his match beside me, and I shall ride for you, and bring you to my Court. And none else may touch you, no other avatar, until you say my name. My full name." 

She was crying, and she didn't care. "I can't die, baby. Not until I'm ready. I heal faster than I should, even as Alpha. I'm stronger than I should be. The bear…the bear should have killed me. The desert couldn't kill me. I'm Feyrie touched, and not just any Feyrie, but the King of the Court of Annwn. And when I'm ready, when I'm ready and not before, I'll say his name. And he'll come. He promised."

"You…you can't die?" he asked.

"Nope. Not until I say his name. And him and his court, they like this mountain. They like it real fine." She reached over and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife. "That's yours now, I traded you. It's a damn good blade, baby. Keep it. Keep it safe."

"No, Samantha --"

"Nope. Call it…call it courtin' gift if you have to, darlin', but that's your knife now. I won't take it back, Oswald. Yours now."

"God," he said, turning his hand to hold hers, laying back in his chair as she had been. "Just when I think you can't surprise me any further, Samantha."

"Ain't that big a deal, darlin'. Really ain't," she shrugged, and he laughed at her.

"No, not at all, you just can't die."

"Not 'till I'm ready. Not till I say his name. And that ain't gonna be for a long, long time yet. I got a sweetheart to please and babies to raise." Her eyes narrowed. "Now what exactly brought all this on, Oswald? My brother tellin' tales?"

"He told me what you did overseas. You told me you were gutshot, you didn't say you took seven bullets to the midsection and two to the lung, Samantha. You didn't tell me you had a Purple Heart --"

"Yep," she interrupted him. "And that and five dollars'll get you a cup of coffee down to Starbucks. I don't talk about it, baby, I -- that was the closest I ever come to sayin' the name. Would have, if I could have drawn breath to do it. Hardest thing ever, layin' there, bleedin' out. It hurt, I ain't never known nothin' that hurt so much, I pray God you never know how bad that hurt."

"I've been shot."

"Yep. But not gutshot. It's different, 'cause you got all the acids and whatnot drainin' into the holes and…and it's horrible. It's just fuckin' horrible. Trust me on that." She shuddered. "But is it better now? Now that you know?"

"I suppose. It's…a little comforting, actually."

"Good. Be comforted, then," she said, squeezing his hand. "But I got to get back on this, darlin', it needs done."

"Come inside and fill out the paperwork at lunch so we can get it sent back. Promise."

"I promise, darlin'. Another…" she checked her watch. "Hour, and I'll take care of it at lunch."

By mid-afternoon, all four of the Rosses were on the payroll of his Chess Club Corporation, earning $200,000 a year on paper, with $100,000 sign-on bonuses. They would fax the W-9s back to Gotham in the morning. Now they were covered, and Samantha promised to start taking him around to find what he wanted the next day. "Ain't a thing, baby, ain't nothin' but a thing, I want you warm and happy," she said at lunch. "And if everybody starts bein' a nuisance, you tell me, and I'll make'em leave you be."

  
  
  


Four nights later, Gabe was at the club when his phone dinged. "You're at the club. Yes? c--}"

"Yes, sir," he texted back.

"This young lady will be approaching the bar shortly. She will order Jameson's 12 year. The code is, "This ain't love it's just a crush." Act as if you're letting her pick you up, go with her." A picture followed, of a small blonde woman with bright blue eyes in a dark green dress. Another message behind that. "I'm to inform you that if you are not a gentleman that she has two older brothers and an older sister. I've assured her family that they have nothing to fear on that score."

Ten minutes later, he saw her, made his way down to where she sat at the bar. "Buy you a drink, Miss?"

"Oh. Jameson's 12 year, thanks," she smiled up at him. Sweet God. "Wow. How tall are you, anyway?"

"Six feet six," he grinned as he motioned to the bartender. "What's your name?"

"They call me Kaa," she said, her tongue darting out and back in quickly. "This is my first time in Gotham. Someone told me -- " she looked back and forth quickly and leaned toward him, her cleavage showing nicely and damn he wished he wasn't a gentleman, now. "Someone told me that, like, gangster types hang out here. That's not true, is it?" She looked up through her eyelashes at him.

"Maybe. Depends."

"Wow. Well." She drank her shot like a pro, put the glass down on the bar. "You know, I've been trying to wind up the courage to do this all night," she said. "I don’t normally do this, this ain't love, it's just a crush…"

"You lookin' to get a little gangster type action, Kaa?"

"Maaaybe…." She said, her tongue darting in and out again. "Yeah," she smiled, "I think I am. What's your name, honey?"

"Gabe. Good to meet you. Let me just take care of something, I'll be right back." He gave a few minor orders to the assistant manager, came back to where…Kaa…sat, and offered her his arm. "You got wheels?"

"I do. Let's go." Out in the parking lot to a Chevy Cobalt, local plates, probably a rental from the way it smelled as he opened her door. He got in, and she dropped all the pretenses as she took a handheld ham radio from the glove compartment, hooked it up. "Lean over toward me like we're making out in the car," she ordered, the sweetness in her voice fading as she turned it on, tuned in a frequency. "That's it. Kaa to Raksha. Stage one complete."

"Copy," another woman's voice came over the radio. "Baloo and Hathi are waiting to shadow you, Kaa. Initiate stage two. Raksha out."

"Copy. Kaa out." She turned the car on, put it into gear. "My name's Amy," she said, holding out one hand while driving with the other. 

"Still Gabe," he said as he shook it. "Nice run you did back there." She flashed him a quick, real smile as she merged into downtown Gotham traffic.

"Thanks," she said, looking up into the rearview. "And there they are, my overprotective brothers," she sighed. 

"Amy, where's the Boss? Where's he been? What happened?" Gabe asked, desperate for news. "He just dropped out of fuckin' sight one day, I'm supposed to protect him --"

"Don't you worry," she said as she made a turn into a hotel parking lot. "He's been safe the last month, anyway. And you'll see him in about an hour or so, barring any problems." She parked. "Go inside and get us a room, use a card in your name or an alias you use a lot. We're laying a false trail."

"Why? Why all the fuckin' cloak and dagger shit?"

"Not cloak and dagger. Look, if you don't trust us -- hang on." She scrabbled for the radio again. "Kaa to Raksha."

"Raksha."

"Brother Wolf doesn't believe we're Mowgli's friends," Amy said, and heard Sammie curse.

"Hell. Mowgli will be contacting Brother Wolf shortly. Wait for confirmation, then get fucking moving, damn it."

"Copy." She shut the radio off, and a few seconds later, Gabe's phone blew up with text messages.

"I trust them with my life, obviously. As much as you. 

They are being very careful for a very good reason. You said Nygma is still looking for me. I'd rather be careful, alive, than careless and dead. Or wishing I was. Now please follow instructions, and I'll see you soon. c--}"

Slowly, the big shoulders came down from around his thick neck, straightened, as he put his phone away. "Sorry."

"Nope. No sorries," Amy said, grinning. "You were worried. We're strangers, and this is weird. I get it. Now. Go get us a room, use a card with your name or an alias you use a lot, so we can lay a false trail." She watched him move, watched the way he walked, grinned to herself as she texted Sammie.

"Ask Mowgli if I can hit that."

"Mowgli says not this trip, they're going to be busy talking business stuff, it's going to be a while. Is he nice?"

"Real nice so far. Smells like baklava."

"Oooh. Nice."

"yep. And while you're getting laid, I'm not."

"Ain't. Goin' slow."

"Oooh."

"Yep. My baby's a gentleman. :P"

"So glad you're finally not being a stubborn bitch anymore, Sammie."

"Yep. Me, too."

The car door opened, and he slid back in, holding up the key. "Room 337," he said. "Around the office building, to the back."

"Got it," Amy said, starting the car back up. "Now, we chose this hotel because it has fire escapes. What you and I are going to do now is get out, go to the room, kiss in front of the door. And I wouldn't mind if it were a really nice kiss," she grinned. "Then we go inside and wait for twenty minutes before we go out the fire escape, around the building, and back out to the street. My brothers will pick us up at the convenience store next door."

"Good plan. You guys are pros?"

"My siblings are," Amy admitted as she parked. "I'm a nurse."

"Oh, nurse, I got somethin' what hurts," he grinned, and Amy snickered.

"If your boss lets you have a few minutes, I'll be glad to look at it," she answered before opening the car door. They went up the stairs to the room, and she let him take the lead, kissing her gently, almost reverently, his hands big enough to almost touch around her waist, before he opened the door and let her in. The door closed behind them, and he backed off, letting her take a seat at the table.

"So, just in case anything happens," she said, "my brothers are driving a blue Camry. We don't think it will, but just in case, you should know."

"Why? Why so much secrecy?"

"Because," she said, leaning on her hand. "Because you're his right hand man, Gabe. You're one of the very few people he still trusts in this city. You're running his…empire now, have been for the last six months, and if this Nygma is watching anyone to try to find Mowgli, he's watching you."

"Boss said that? Said I'm his right hand?"

"Yes," Amy nodded, her face stone serious. "Yes, he did. He speaks very highly of you, he's very fond of you. He's missed you a lot."

  
  


The plan went off without a hitch, the two getting into the back seat of the Camry exactly twenty-two minutes later, as the car pulled up and out of the gas station parking lot, the two men in the front seat obviously professionals of some sort. One was blond like Amy, skinny built but wiry, the other was probably as big as Gabe was, and he was driving as the blond spoke into another handheld radio.

"Baloo to Raksha."

"Go for Raksha."

"Stage two complete. Orders?"

"Initiate stage three. Bring Brother Wolf to our current lair."

"Wilco. Out."

"Raksha out." 

The blond put the radio in the glove compartment, turned around and offered his hand. "Hi. I'm Nick. This is my brother Randy. You met Amy already, and I swear to Christ, girl, you kiss a man like that in front of me again it better be at your wedding."

"Raksha said make it look good…" Amy said, wide eyed and trying to play innocent.

"Raksha would have shot his ass, him bein' Mowgli's boy or not, she'd'a seen that."

"I'm only twenty-seven, God forbid I want to get laid or something…"

"Amy." The deep voice from the driver's seat was obviously meant to be reprimanding, but none of them could keep a straight face. "Sorry, Mr. Gabriel, we've been a little tense. Been setting this up since about two."

"No problem. And it's just Gabe. That's good work."

"My sister and your boss planned it," Randy said. "Jesus but he's smart."

"Boss is real fuckin' smart. Real smart."

"Yeah. So's our sister. You put her tactics with his knowledge…" Randy shook his head. "They could take out the President."

"Fuck that noise, they could kill a Feyrie Lord and get away with it, they put their minds to it," Nick said. "Jesus. They're scary together, swear to Christ."

"They are," Amy agreed, pride coloring her voice. "I'm so glad they finally got over themselves."

"So say we, so say we all," Nick answered.

"And they're so adorable together," Amy went on, and Gabe sputtered.

"Boss? Boss is with your sister?"

"Well, he is now," Amy said. "Took'em long enough."

"Well, Sammie had her reasons…" Randy said from the front seat, looking in the rearview. "Shit. Amy, get your head down."

"What's wrong?"

"There's a green Celebrity that's been following us for about four blocks and I can't see the driver's face. Gonna pull in here, drive through, get some fries or something," Randy said as they pulled into a McDonald's. "And they're coming in, too. Gabe, see if you can see who's driving that car, if you recognize them."

"Nope. Think it's just somebody wantin' food," he said after a minute.

"I hope so. This guy, he doesn't have people, does he? Not like you and Mowgli do?"

"Nope. He works freelance. Mighta hired somebody, but I don't think so." His phone went off.

"Would you possibly mind bringing me some lo mein from the place on 57th? They should still be open. I've been craving it for days. c--}"

"Boss wants Chinese. Can you get out of line?" In answer, Randy whipped out of the drive through line before they got to the speaker, out of the parking lot and back to the street, following Gabe's directions to a tiny Chinese restaurant in a strip mall. All of them got out and went inside, ordering enough food to make the worn out staff cuss them in Mandarin until Randy spoke in the same language, saying he knew it was late and they were all so very sorry. Shrimp, beef, and vegetable lo mein, 'cause the Boss didn't say what kind he wanted and Gabe knew he liked all three. 

"And that," Amy said as they climbed back into the car, the three passengers holding heavy, fragrant bags of food, "should be enough of a distraction and a detour to throw anybody off."

"Good point," Nick said, crunching on wontons. 

"Don't eat all of those, Raksha will have your head," Randy said as he headed for the interstate. 

"She's gonna be busy fightin' Mowgli for the noodles, shut up," Nick said. 

  
  


The motel room door was answered by a tall Alpha female, a gun in her hand quickly holstered as she let them in. "Thank God, he's been getting bitchy," she said when she saw the bags, letting go of the door and walking further into the room.

"I'm not bitchy," the Boss said from somewhere past her, and Gabe shouldered past the Betas to see the Alpha turn in front of him and drop into a crouch, snarling, a knife in her hand. "Raksha, no!" Oswald stepped into the room fully, gentling his tone as he went on, as the Alpha froze in place. "No, Samantha. No, he's my friend, he didn’t mean anything." He looked up at Gabe as she stood up. "Sorry. She's been tense all day."

"I have," she admitted, sliding the knife back into her boot sheath. "I'm sorry. Sam Ross." She held out her hand to shake, and Gabe did.

"Hey, it's no problem. I really appreciate you guys takin' care of him --" Gabe got a good look at the Boss for the first time, and his jaw dropped. "Jesus." His belly was rounded, he was wearing jeans, that alone would have made him do a double take, the Boss never wore jeans and stuff, but he was, he was dressed a lot like the lady in front of him, a lot like the Betas. But the belly was what did it. "You're pregnant?"

"Yes." 

"Hell, you gotta have a doctor, we gotta take you home --"

"No. He's got a doctor, one of the best in the county, got an appointment next Monday. An' we ain't stayin more than twenty-four hours. All I feel safe," the lady Alpha, Sam, said. "Ain't takin' no chances."

"She's a little paranoid," Oswald said as he allowed Gabe to hug him. "With good reason, if Ed's looking for me."

"What's up with that, Boss? Where have you been? You just fuckin' disappeared while I was downstairs, I don't -- that ain't fair, I'm supposed to take care of you, I'm supposed to --" Gabe cut off at Oswald's upraised hand.

"I don't want to revisit it, if I can help it," he said as he accepted the plate Amy held out. "Let's just say that Ed and I had a….a bit of a falling out."

Now Gabe was big, and slow to speak, but he was by no means a stupid man. And Oswald realized as he watched the huge man look at his belly again, watched the huge fists clench, that he had put the pieces together. "No. Act as if nothing is different. We're going to take care of it once I deliver," he said as he went to the table. "I need that, Gabe. Samantha and the boys fully intend to make him pay for it, and I'm going to kill him. But I have to deliver first."

"Fuck. No." Gabe enunciated slowly. "Fuck that shit, Boss, no, he'll think he got away with it, think he's still getting away with it --"

"You said he'd backed off over the summer. I'm hoping that he thinks I'm dead." God, he hadn't had this stuff in too long, far too long. 

"I don't know what he thinks, he's fuckin' crazy, you know that. The fuck you think you was doin' goin' to see him without nobody?"

"I thought he was my friend, Gabe, he did save my life after -- after Mother. After Galavan. No, don't bother," he said as Gabe turned to the rest of the Pack and back to him. "They're my Pack. At least three of them have done work that isn't exactly on the up and up. They know who I am, what we do. I trust them."

"Why thank you, darlin'," the lady Alpha, Sam, said as she passed behind the Boss with a plate of her own, sat down at his left. 

"You're very welcome, dearest. Sit down, Gabe, eat something, and then we'll go over any questions you have."

The two sat and talked together for hours, the lady Alpha never leaving the Boss's side, the Betas behind on the beds asking questions and offering suggestions from time to time. The crazy part, the part that made Gabe do a double take and really accept that maybe this was real, maybe the Boss had finally really gotten a Pack, was that he listened to them. He corrected them if they were wrong, sometimes sarcastically, but he listened. Boss never listened to nobody. 

Amy took notes, as she'd been instructed, while the boys kept listening for cars, for footsteps, even as they listened to their PackBrother talk to his friend. Samantha listened with half an ear, her gun on the table, a direct line of sight to both entrances kept clear for her by her sibs. They had their orders; if something went wrong, Nick was to cover Oswald and get him and Amy out while she and Randy and she supposed Gabe brought up the rear. They had another rendezvous point set up, and if they weren't met within two hours, they were to go home, pedal down, Sam and Randy would get home eventually. 

But nothing went wrong. Everything seemed to be…maybe not hunky dory, but the plan seemed to have worked. Maybe Shere Khan…Ed… wasn't watching Gabe anymore. She doubted it, she figured he still had eyes on, but running the honeypot gambit might have been enough to make him assume the big guy was still with Amy in the other hotel room. And speaking of, she checked her watch. It was already four o'clock, they'd been talking for over four hours.

"Baby, you need to wrap it up," she said at the next convenient pause. "Amy and Randy need to take him back to the other hotel, get the other car. Randy, you drop them off, come on back, Amy should be able to find her way back to home den. No questions." She winked at her sister. 

"You said twenty-four hours," Oswald began to argue, and she nodded. 

"Yes, I did. But you know we agreed we was movin' den this afternoon, and you're exhausted. You're startin' to go peaked and repeat yourself. We can pick him up again this afternoon, this evening, baby. He can meet with one of the brothers this time. Runnin' the honeypot gambit's only guaranteed to work once. Twice is pushing it." She squeezed the hand she held under the table. "You need sleep, honey. And so do we. I don't expect anything to happen in daylight, and we reserved these rooms for three days. We'll sleep the morning away, leave this afternoon for the other den. You'll pardon my not telling you where," she said, looking at Gabe. "Beg pardon, but again, his safety is my priority."

"No ma'am, Miss Sam, I got ya. And she's right, Boss, you ain't -- it ain't just you now. Miss Gertrud would be havin' kittens."

"God. Mother would have me wrapped in cotton and fucking tied -- " he stopped, pressed a hand to his face. "Mother would be overjoyed and frightened at once. Yes. Of course, Samantha's right. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Amy, Randy. Go. Nick, go to the other room, honey, me and Mowgli are gonna lie down a while."

"You sure, Sis? I can stay up," Nick offered, and Sam shook her head.

"Nope. I need you fresh come time to move out. Get a couple hours, anyway, okay?"

"Yes, Alpha."

In ten minutes, the others were gone, and Sam moved around the room, straightening it somewhat while Oswald looked over the notes Amy had taken, making some of his own, until Samantha gently cleared her throat. "Baby, you need rest," she said. "The work will be there in the morning."

"I know," he sighed, closing the notebook. "I've missed it though, Samantha, you have no idea how much I've missed my work."

"You're right. I don't. And I know that there ain't a whole lot on the mountain for you to do now, to utilize your skills, and I'm sorry, baby, you know I am. But you need to come lay down now." She set up her weapons the way she wanted them on the edge of one of the queen beds, waited for him to come lay down in the other. 

"You're not sleeping?" he asked as he took off his boots.

"I'll sleep. Just down here, across the bed, clear line," she explained. "Now. Now's the time when you tell me your boy Gabe won't hurt my baby sister."

"No. He wouldn't. Won't." He answered as he pulled the covers over himself. "Is it that he's built like Randy, do you think?"

"Nope. Beta. I told you. Amy only does anything with Betas now." Samantha brought a pillow down, got one of the extra covers from the dresser drawer. 

"Makes sense. They can't hurt her," he mused, his eyes already half-closed.

"No. They can't, not like that, not again," Samantha said. "And it's why I thought…what I thought. About you. And me."

"You're different. You're Samantha." The way he said her name, dear God, it just curled her toes and made her stomach jump even yet. 

"Thank you, darlin'. Get some rest now."

  
  
  


"Are you fucking kidding me?" Amy asked as Gabe pulled away from her in the other hotel room. "You have to be --"

"No. Not that I don't want to, Amy. I do. But I get the feelin' Boss'd gut me if I were to touch ya. Besides, the way him and your sister are, we'll be seein' a lot of each other when he comes back."

"That may not be for a long time, Gabe, he's -- damn. Whoever this Ed is, he fucked Mowgli up, fucked him up badly, he's deathly afraid of Alphas now," Amy said. "Sam's the only one he can be around without shaking himself half to death."

"But you guys'll bring him back to help me out. He's got a thing about bein' in charge, he ain't retiring or nothing, right?"

"He hasn't said. Or if he has, he hasn't said it to me. And him and Sam, who knows whether that'll work out, all I know for sure is we're raising the kids back home," Amy said, sitting down and pouting on the edge of the bed. 

"Listen," Gabe said, dragging a chair over in front of her. "Listen, let me tell you somethin' about the Boss. I only ever seen him look at one person the way he looks at your sister. Ever. And that was…that's been over two years since then, that person got married, and quit comin' around so much. He's…what's the fuckin' word, dammit, obsessive, that's it. He falls for your sister, he won't let her go, Amy. Not unless she wants let go. So we got time, okay? Besides. You deserve more than a quick tumble, babe. After everything's over and done with, we'll see what happens, 'cause I'd bet…" he looked down, took off the ring he wore on his right ring finger. Emerald shone up wrapped with silver. "I'd bet this, and I was given this by Don Maroni, that I get to see you a lot more often than you think right now, doll."

Amy sighed, but stopped pouting. "I'm just irritated. Not mad, exactly. I like you." She looked up at him through dark eyelashes. "I wasn't lying, I really did watch you most of the evening, even before I knew who you were."

"That's real good for my ego, Amy. But --" footsteps outside the door, they both hushed a moment before the footsteps moved on. "But," he went on, "I mean it, too. More than a quick tumble. Winin' and dinin', the whole nine. I meant the other, too, you ever seen the Boss use a knife? Jesus."

"I've seen him with cooking knives, that's all. It's hard for me to put the two -- it's hard for me to look at Mowgli and see," she lowered her voice, "the Penguin."

"He's not always," Gabe admitted. "Saw a little tonight, but mostly I saw the guy I met six, seven years ago. He's dangerous as hell, though, Amy. Scary smart and good, fuck, so good with a knife it ain't even funny. His shootin's shit, and he folds up if he gets punched, but damn, put a blade in his hand, you're fucked."

"How did he get to be…who he is? If he can't shoot and he can't fight?"

"Brains, doll. He's got more brains than -- he outwitted, out thought, three bosses to take this town. He had luck on his side, too, but mostly? Brains. Hell. Put his brains and your…your Pack behind him, he could own the Coast." Gabe stood up. "Come on, doll. You can take me home. I'll see ya tonight. Okay?"

  
  


"Be easy," Samantha heard in her dreams, and she sat up on the black fur rug beside the fire. Smith sat across from her, the low feasting table between them. "Be easy, Samantha Jane. I mean no harm."

"Hi."

"Hail and well met to you."

"Kinda wish you'd'a waited till I got home to do this, sugar, I got shit going on right now in the real."

"I know. Your wee wolfie is worried for you."

"He is? Over what, Smith?" 

"Let him tell you why. Not for me to interfere."

"That ain't fair. Not fair at all."

"He worries that you will sacrifice yourself for him, he worries that you sacrifice so much of who you are for your Pack, he worries over many things about you, Samantha. And cares, already, so much. And I rejoice to see it, I rejoice to see you seeking love, rather than only slaking your lust."

"Aww. But you slake my lust so well," she said, smiling.

"I do," he chuckled. "Still. I would you be happy, Samantha. I would hear you howl in joy rather than mourning."

"He's having the pups. I'm scared shitless, Smith."

"So is he. He knows very little of his own nature. He was taught how to be Beta from the moment he presented as Omega. His mother…his mother feared losing him to any. He knows little of love, little of family as you are, little of friendship. So much for you to show, to teach your wee wolf."

"And then to watch him leave, and leave behind his pups for me and mine to raise," she whispered. "He's gonna break my heart, Smith. You were right."

"No. I did not call you to my fire for you to harden your heart, Samantha. I called you here to remind you that opening it does not always lead to pain. Do you not love me in your own way?"

"In my own way. Yes."

"Though you fear. Though you have ever feared."

"Only a fool is not afraid when a god invites them to his bed."

"Not a god." He was tracing runes on the back of her hand now, she could feel them, but she couldn't tell what they were. "I have never claimed to be a god, Samantha Jane. More than you, yes, and more than Feyrie in my way. But never a god."

"Will you put me back together when he breaks me?" His fingers stilled. 

"Always, Samantha Jane. Should he break your heart, I will be here. And with honey wine and kisses, I will mend you again. Tell me. Price and prize. What would you of your wolf? Would you keep him on the mountain? Would you teach him what it is to be a wolf, a true wolf?"

She nodded, tears dropping from her face.

"That is your prize. Would you know the price?"

"I would," she whispered. "I would know the price."

"Trust him," Smith said, even as he kissed her hand. "Trust your wee wolf and your own heart."

"The mountain isn't his world, Smith, it's not that simple. He's not that simple, he's a very complicated person…"

"I do not disagree with you on that score at all, cherished one. But he is still, ever and yet, a man. An injured man, a man who is wounded deeply on many levels. Would you heal his heart? Would you ease his mind? Would you show him what it is to love?"

"I would," she nodded. "But what price? What price to pay?"

"The greatest price of all, Samantha. You must love. You must take the chance of a broken heart to find it. I do not disregard your pain. I do not dismiss the rejections and the hurts you carry. I would remind you that you are not the only one who has been cast aside." He sat before her shirtless, his barrel chest covered in dark hair, his torso and arms well sculpted from millennia at his forges, the fire flickering auburn highlights in his brown hair and beard, both flowing free. "I visited him the other night, you know."

"No. No, I didn't know," Samantha said as she accepted the drinking horn he handed her, sipped at the sweet wine within. "He hasn't told me."

"He will not. He wonders if it were a dream rather than a sending. I offered him price and prize as well. I will not say what; those bargains were between the pair of us. He considered only one, and for a moment only. I was, I admit, more than a little…well. I was not as courteous as I should have been." He stroked her hand. "You gave him your knife."

"He needed it more."

"I have worked that blade, Samantha. Gwyn has held the antler that makes its hilt. You know it blessed. And you gave it him."

"He needed it more."

"He did, he does. The blade soothes his mind, and the horn his soul. Gwyn sends his regards, by the by."

"Give him mine."

"I shall. Hear my words, Samantha, and heed them well. Trust. Teach. Love. You might yet be surprised what can come of an open heart and an open mind." His smile was gentle as he reached out and pushed her hair out of her face. "I ask price for my advice; when you sire your own litter, if I am right, then one of your children you will name for me. You will. Agreed?"

"Your first name or your last?"

"Ah. There are so few Weylands now. And your wolf will not argue; he knows well who I am. His own infirmity reminds him."

"Done. If you are right."

"Samantha. Have you ever known me to be wrong? Let it be Weyland Gwyn, and he shall grow long and lean and strong. Just as his mother, and let him have the keen mind of his father, a blade of steel indeed. A fitting name for the child, the Crown Prince, of the king of a dark city and a wild mountain queen. First born of the litter you shall sire on your wolf."

"Why don't you call him by his name?" She asked as she drank again.

"It would call him here. And…I admit to it. I am still just a bit envious. I would have had you with me in the ever after, Samantha, and now I cannot."

"Your wife would have my head when you find her," Sam said with a smile. "And I believe, Smith. I believe you shall someday."

"You are kind to give me that. Now. You shall waken refreshed and strong, as if you had slept the night away instead of only a few hours. Be wary. The hunter has laid a trap."


	4. Part 4

She sat up, her gun in her hand, as her alarm screamed beside her. Shit. Shit. Fuck. She looked down at it, put her gun away. Text from Amy, hours old.

"I'm in the boys' room. He said no, you believe that?" Sam shook her head, smiling. Amy was a little vain when it came to her conquests. She knew there'd be girl talk later over this. 

"Sorry, doll. Maybe next time," she texted back. "Y'all awake?"

"Yep. There's gonna be a next time?"

"Two months, if he's not showing too much, if we can get down off the mountain."

"Oh, okay. We're ready when you two are." Sam turned to look at Oswald, asleep on the other bed. Trust, Smith had said. And to be wary of a trap. Hmm. Now if she were hunting, where would she lay a trap for prey? Where he was most likely to go. Shit, shit, shit, the cemetery, shit…he didn't talk about his mama often, but when he did, it was clear he'd loved her dear. Still did. Son of a bitch, you no count bastard, I swear to God and the Mountain both I'm gonna hear you scream if I'm right, I swear, I swear…she thought, even as she rose from the bed, holstering the nine she'd slept with, slipped her OKC knife in its sheath. 

She debated, watching him sleep, whether to tell him of her dream or not. He was a jealous type, she already knew from his own lips. But she hadn't sought the dream out, and she hadn't done anything wrong. It had been a warning and a…a blessing of sorts, advice, from a friend and a former lover, not anything that had even hinted of cheating. She'd been dressed, she'd sat across the table. 

Better to tell, she decided. Then if he found out later, he couldn’t think her false. She glanced at her watch. Ten a.m. She knew the "Do Not Disturb" sign was out on their door, she wasn't sure about the boys and Amy…didn't matter. She texted Amy again.

"Go get us something to eat from the Whole Foods down the way. Fresh fruit, croissants, coffee. NO STRAWBERRIES."

"Got it. You want us to join you for breakfast or --?"

"No. I need to talk with him. Get y'all's breakfast too of course. Bring ours to the door between."

"Got it."

She waited, let him sleep until Amy tapped gently on the connecting door forty minutes later. Two steaming go cups, a plastic bag. "I wasn’t sure what kind of fruit," Amy said softly. "Apples and bananas, went with the most common."

"You did fine. Y'all wait on us, we're gonna be a bit."

"Okay."

She turned around to see him rolling over, eyes opening, sleep tousled hair sticking up willy nilly, and she smiled. "Good mornin', darlin'."

"Coffee."

"Say please." He glared at her, and she had to laugh as she brought the food over. "You don't intimidate me, sweetheart, we've had that discussion."

"Please, Samantha?" he tried the sweet approach instead, and she laughed again as she handed him a cup. 

"Wait, I don't know if it's fixed or not yet," she said as she dug through the bag for cream. "Here we go." She handed him what he needed, took out the rest of the food and placed it on the nightstand. "Did you sleep well?"

"No," he grumbled. "Too noisy, I never noticed traffic noise before."

"Well, we'll be back home soonish," she said, trying to figure out how to tell him about her dream. 

"What about you?" He asked as he opened the box holding the croissants. "Oh, thank you dearest, I've missed this."

"Thought you might've," she grinned. "Um. Well. I had an interesting dream. Visitor. In my dream." 

"I told you I don't share --" he began, and she nodded.

"I know, it wasn't a sex dream. It wasn't anything like that, it was more a…an encouraging, sort of…almost a blessing sort of dream. We talked, that's all. He didn't do nothin' a friend wouldn't do, darlin'. And he gave me a warning; he said the hunter has laid a trap. And I reckon I know where. Don't know what, but I reckon I know where. So me and Nicky are gonna go take a look before I let you anywhere near there."

"The cemetery," he said, laying his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes. "He would dare? You think…I wouldn't even do that, Samantha, and I am ruthless."

"You have a sense of honor, baby. I don't know that Shere Khan ever did." She picked up a croissant and started tearing it apart. "I can't help being visited in my dream, darlin'. Don't be mad."

"It was perfectly harmless, and did us a favor. I'm not angry. I'm confused, I'm concerned. I've never had anything to do with the Feyrie. Ever. I know my limits. But you seem…not blasé, but…unconcerned."

"Smith ain't never done me any harm," Samantha shrugged. "I ain't stupid about the Shining Ones, but I ain't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, either." She took a bite of the buttery bread. "But darlin', lookit. You don't often talk about y'mama. But when you do, it's right clear that you love her dear even yet. Best way to hunt prey is go where you know it's gonna be. I reckon he figured on you goin' there four footed if you got loose. It's your Mama. It's the person you loved best."

"If he desecrated Mother's grave…" he couldn’t even finish the sentence, he couldn't think of anything horrible enough to convey his anger at the thought.

"You may as well just start thinkin' on what you want done, darlin'. 'Cause I'll almost bet he did. Almost bet."

"I'll rip his fucking throat out with my teeth," Oswald snarled. "I'll gut him first and let him smell -- oh, no, Samantha, no --" she had paled at the mention of the smell, turned away, dropping the food in her hand. He scrambled up as quickly as he could, to her side on the other bed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Samantha, no, don't, you're fine now, you're safe, love, you're safe…"

"Don't mention the smell," she gasped. "Just not that, you don't know, you don't know, it was horrible, please, don't mention that again…" she could feel the heat again, could smell the gases and fumes from her own stomach rising up in her nose again, bile and acid and…"Fuck, move, baby," she said, and ran to the bathroom, barely making it before she lost what little was in her stomach. She heard him scream for Amy, heard running footsteps before the door was thrown open and Amy was there next to her.

"What is it, Sammie? What is it, you just sick? What is it?"

"Flashback, I think," Oswald called from the bedroom. "Goddammit --"

Low murmurs, Randy and Nick. Good. They'd take care of him, she thought as she brought up clear liquid, bile. Water ran next to her, and a cold washcloth placed on her neck as Amy spoke. "He didn't mean to, Sammie, he didn't…"

"No, I know that," she gasped out. "Just got to get through it now, Amy."

"What? What triggered this?"

"Smell. Smell of guts," she said weakly, and bent over the basin again, trying not to fight the contractions, it hurt worse when she fought it. It hurt as it was, hurt more than she let on most of the time, and she couldn't help whimpering just a little.

"Easy, Sam, easy," Amy said, stroking her back. "Easy now. Let it go. Let it go, you're safe, you're fine…"

"Jesus," she whimpered, drawing herself up, knees to her chest. "Jesus, please, I ain't got time for this today, please Lord, please…" Something smacked against the wall in the next room, she heard Randy raise his voice, heard Nicky pleading. "Amy, go tell him to calm down. Tell him I said please. Gonna hurt hisself. Gonna hurt the babies."

"Fuck that. He set this off, he can get mad at himself," Amy hissed. 

"He didn't mean to. Like you just said." She breathed as deep as she could, tried to breathe it out, tried to ease herself loose again. 

"No, but it's awful damn hard for me to be sympathetic to him when you're in here losing your guts. Does he have any idea how patchwork your insides are now?"

"No. Ain't told him."

"Sammie…"

"I will. He notices when I don't eat, anyway. Give him that much." She moved the washcloth from her neck to her forehead. "Get me a drink, let me rinse my mouth out. It's better now." She did so, making sure to swirl all around her mouth, before reaching up for Amy to help her stand. She flushed, and as the door opened, the sounds from the bedroom stopped.

"Sissy okay -- " Nick began, stopped when he saw her. "Oh, sweet Christ. Sissy…"

Pale and sweating still, one hand over her yet aching midsection, she kept her steps easy and light rather than her usual stride, one hand on the wall to stay steady. She looked to see what the hell he'd thrown -- both apples, apparently, and the croissant box. She looked at him glaring from the table, waited for him to see her. Watched the look on his face change from anger to sadness to anger again when he did, self directed anger, arms folding now and looking down.

"Thank y'all kindly for comin', for seein' to us, now y'all go on. Let me talk with him," she ordered, and it was an order. She waited until the adjoining door closed before steeling herself (her abdomen hurt, it was gonna hurt for days now Lord God have mercy) up to where her walk was at least an approximation of her usual stride. She saw him see through it, saw him wince as she moved closer, look away again, unable to meet her gaze. She lowered herself into the chair beside him and held out her hand, open, waiting, on the table. He made no move to take it.

"You didn't know, baby," she said softly. "I ain't mad."

"I hurt you," he replied. "I hurt the one person in this world I never want to. Never. Anyone else. Anyone but you, Samantha."

"I know. But baby, that's just part of being in a relationship, really. We're gonna hurt each other, not physically, but we're two different people. We're gonna scrape and bump up against each other, piss each other off, all couples do. It just happens," she said, leaving her hand where it was, waiting.

"I know that," he sighed. "But I threw you into a flashback, and just…I didn't know. You're right, I didn't, but I should have. I should have inferred it."

"You're not psychic, darlin'. And you're not perfect. I ain't mad."

"I know you're not. I am."

"Stop. Stop beatin' up my sweetheart," she said. "I really don't care for that."

"You're awfully good at beating up mine," he murmured, and she took that, nodded.

"I am. You're right. But I'm tryin' to get better, ain't I?"

"Yes. You are," he conceded.

"Because you asked me to. Now I'm askin'. Accept it for what it was; a mistake. An accident. And let's move on, 'cause we got things to do today, and I ain't even been kissed good mornin' yet."

"Now that is an egregious error," he murmured. "But not right now."

"You're right, I ain't brushed my teeth yet. Come on, Oswald, I forgive you. It's okay."

"You're still hurting. Your breathing's off and you're not moving right. Tell me why." He lifted his hand, drew a finger down her open palm. "I work better when I have all of the information, Samantha. Tell me why."

" 'Cause it's…painful. For me to do that. To, um, there's got to be a nice word for it."

"Regurgitate."

"Yep. That's it. I had a lot of surgery on my insides, baby. There's plastic and nylon and Christ knows what all inside of me. Holding me together. So it's real painful for me to do that. Harder than it is for other folks."

"How long will you hurt? The truth, Samantha." 

"A couple days most likely. No more than three, usually. But I'll be okay. I promise. Hell, I have to be, darlin', we got shit to do."

"Can't the brothers do it? Most of it, anyway?" he pleaded, tilting her face to look at him. "I don't like this, I don't like seeing you hurt, Samantha…"

"Baby doll, they can. Most of it. But I'm Alpha. I got to be in there with'em. Lead from the front, as it were. You know how that is, don't you?" 

"You know I do," he grumbled. "Very well. But no picking up four bags at once. Do not overexert yourself, you'll make me worry."

"Heaven damn forbid," she teased. "Besides, we ain't got that much with us this trip --"

"You have an entire duffel bag of guns and knives, Samantha. You brought three pairs of jeans, three pairs of socks, three shirts and three flannels. And an entire duffel bag of weapons."

"I brought the important stuff," she said. "I brought you where you wanted to go. That's the important thing. Everything else can be replaced."

"Speaking of where I want to go…" he began. "Is there any way, any way possible I could go to my house? Any?"

"Lord," she said, throwing her head back to look up at the ceiling. "He'll have some sort of eyes on, I'm sure…"

"Please, Samantha, I just want to get something from the safe. Please." He traced a fingernail down her now extended neck, watched her shiver. 

"Jesus wept but it's a bad idea, baby. It really, really is," she said. "I mean a bad idea. Can't you have Gabe or somebody pick up whatever it is?"

"I'm not giving out that combination. Please. It's very important." She huffed. "In and out, ten minutes at the most, I promise," he wheedled. 

"Pull it up on Google Earth, let me see what I'm dealing with," she said at last, handing him her phone from her pocket. "Damn it, Oswald."

"Ten minutes," he promised. "Long enough to go in to my office, get what I need, and leave." He pulled up the most recent picture from the internet and showed it to her, watched shadows cross her face. 

"Hell," she sighed. "Would there be anybody there? Staff, you know, maids and stuff?"

"No. If I'm not there for three weeks, they automatically are put on leave with pay until my return," he said, and watched her shoulders come up. "So there shouldn't be anyone there."

"Whatever it is you're wanting to get better be damn important, baby," she said at last. "After the cemetery. And then we are high damn tailing it away from here. Period. Done. End of story."

"Thank you, Samantha. You won't regret it. I promise." She nodded, looking at the picture, closing the window after a moment and turning to hide her face in his shoulder. "What? No, tell me. That's the face you made in the orchard. When you thought I was teasing about how beautiful you are, tell me."

"Nothin'. Just you could fit a dozen damn triplewides in that." She muttered, and he cursed in some other language as he realized what she was thinking, hastened to reassure her.

"No. Samantha. I hate that house. I do. I hate it, it's huge, yes, but it's so empty. It's empty all the time, I'm the only person who lives there except whoever I have to guard me that day, and no one…no one to talk to. No one singing, no one laughing, no one asking when supper will be, the only music is from my laptop, there's no warmth, there's no one…it's a symbol. That's all. It is my house. It is not my home. I sleep there. I work there. I eat and I make plans there, but it is not, it is not in any way my home. If, if I have a home here in Gotham, if I do, it would be my club and I'm not asking to go there because I know Ed will be watching there. I know it. Because I would."

"If you really wanted to, I'd make it happen," she said. "You know I would."

"I know. But it's just…it's too risky. When we come back next spring, we'll make a triumphant return, certainly, but not now. I intend…I have such ideas for you and the rest of the Pack, Samantha, you have no idea."

"And all winter to expand on'em, darlin'," she answered, "but right now, we gotta get dressed and get around. It's pushin' towards noon, and I want to be settled in the other den in two hours and we gotta double around the city to do it. I'm sending Nicky out for your boy at four. Figure out where you want them to meet at." Wincing, she stood, made herself stand straight. "Come on, darlin'. Let's get this done."

  
  
  


When Nicky came back to the new den that evening, bringing two huge boxes of Italian to go plates with him, he brought back two men instead of one. "You must be the Boss-Lady," the new man said, offering her his right hand. He didn't have a left. 

"There's an interesting name for you, Samantha," Oswald said behind her. "Rather fitting, too, she bosses us all," he laughed. "Butch. It's so good, so very, very good to see you."

"Good to see you, Boss. Jesus. You weren't kiddin', Gabe." He took in the sight of Oswald in jeans and a pullover sweater, the hair hanging over his shoulders, and shook his head. "You look completely different, Boss. I almost wouldn't have known you."

"His eyes," Gabe said, nodding. "Your eyes don't never change, Boss. You ever want to go deep under, you gotta get colored contacts."

"We'll keep that in mind," the lady who'd opened the door said. "Sam Ross. You are?"

"So sorry. Butch Gilzean. Pleasedtameetcha." He didn't miss the look that she shot at the Boss; safe?

"He and Gabe are running things in my absence, Samantha. He knows when to keep quiet. Don't you, Butch?" 

"Yes, sir." Sam shrugged, moved out of the way to let them sit down. This hotel had things done up right; there were sitting room areas in both suites, along with a small dining area where the boys and Amy were dividing up the food. She waited to see where Oswald would sit, and when he chose the leather chair in the corner, she took the ottoman that went to it, moved it so she would be between him and the door, pushed it back against the wall, and sat next to him. 

She picked at her food tonight, he noticed. She'd barely eaten all day after the incident that morning, and now she was picking at the chicken marsala. She loved chicken marsala, he knew that, he'd made it for the Pack one night and she'd eaten three plates. He'd chosen Roselli's because of it, because he knew they made the best in town. "What's wrong, Samantha? Something wrong with it? Is it off?"

"No. It's fine," she said, setting her to go box on the table and closing it. "I'm just not that hungry, baby." She curled up her legs into almost a fetal position, laid her head on the arm of the chair. She'd have shifted if they were on the mountain, he realized. Gently, he pet her hair. 

"Are you still hurting?"

"A little. It'll be fine. We'll get stuff done. I promise. Y'all do y'all's work." She raised her head to smile at him. "I'll be fine, Oswald. Just do your work, baby."

"Are you sure? We can get you to a doctor, I have doctors we can call --"

"I'll be fine. Ain't nothin' that ain't never happened before. I promise. Besides, low key this time around, remember? I go to one of your doctors and it gets back around to Shere Khan, he'll start sniffin', tryin' to find me. It'll be different, outside the routine. Bad enough we got both your boys here, that's outside the routine enough." 

"If you're sure. Will you let Amy take a look after she eats, at least? For me?" he asked, drawing two fingers under her chin, and she nodded. 

"For you, yes. But I'm tellin' you, it's just a matter of time more than anything else."

"I know. Humor me." He set his own plate to the side for now, sat back and looked at Butch and Gabe. "Report." One hand kept stroking her hair, her forehead, and her eyes closed.

On the couch, Butch and Gabe shared a look. They had never, either of them, ever, seen the Boss be so gentle, so concerned, with anyone besides his mother. Not even Selina, and he was awful fond of her. Whoever this lady was, Butch thought, she was special. At the same time, the Pack stood back, watching Sammie allow herself to show weakness, allow herself to be soft, allow herself to accept comfort. Something they hadn't seen since Granddaddy died twenty years before, she'd been thorn sharp and hickory hard ever since. But she wasn't now. 

It was two in the morning before they were done, absolutely done. They'd gone over everything he could think of, everything they could think of, while again the Pack offered suggestions and insights that he hadn't thought of, including Samantha, still beside him. He saw them out, promised to call and accept calls if necessary, and as the rest of the Pack went to their own room next door, he stopped Randy.

"Carry her to bed, please. I can't." 

"Fuck that," she mumbled as she started to push herself up, gasped, and her brother caught her up in his arms, shaking his head.

"You've lost weight again, Sammie," Randy said as he went to the bedroom. "You've got to eat, Sissy, you do…"

"Been hard lately. I'll get better."

"Which bed?" Randy asked Oswald, who moved as quickly as he could to turn down one of the queen beds waiting. He laid her down carefully, trying as hard as he could not to jostle her midsection too much. "You got her from here, PackBrother?"

"Yes. Thank you, Randy." He was already moving to take her gun from her holster, take her boots off, to try to make her comfortable. He listened as the door between the rooms opened and shut again, covered her up and got ready for bed himself. He hesitated only a second before crawling in behind her, fitting himself to her. "Go to sleep, Samantha. All is well. Nick's going to sleep on the couch when he gets back."

"Can't till he does," she said, her words slurred together. "You need me."

"I need you to feel better, Samantha, and I'm really starting to worry. Could you have torn something inside --"

"I'd have passed out already," she murmured. "Ain't a thing. Be okay."

"I can't lose you, Samantha."

"You won't. Can't die."

"I can't. I mean it."

"I know. I know, baby, I feel it, too. Quit frettin', I'll be fine. Prolly be right as rain come mornin'. Go to sleep." She rolled over, stifling a cry, to face him in the dark. "Go to sleep, lover."

"I need you."

"I'm here. I ain't goin' noplace. I'm right here, beside you, and I'm gonna damn well stay here. All the demons of Hell couldn't pry me loose from you, darlin'," she promised. 

"I don't know if I've ever loved anyone before," he said. "Not like this. I could always live without them before. I could always choose to. I always did. You…I need you. Like air, Samantha. I can't breathe without you."

"You tryin' to tell me something, Oswald? 'Cause I'd remind you, I'm a simple girl, you might want to use fewer words." He could just see her smile in the dim light. 

"Not yet. Still too early. I need you, though. You're essential to my mental and emotional stability." He rose on one arm, traced her face in the dark. 

"As you are to mine. Now go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll be fine."

  
  
  
  


The next morning, Nick and Sammie were silent as they approached the sector Oswald's mother's grave was in, both scenting hard, trying to find anything, anything at all out of the ordinary in the wind. They held flowers, went to stand at a grave a few plots down, both still scenting, until finally Nick's head turned.

"I think I smell black powder. I'm not sure. I think so, though."

"Shit. Let's go look."

They strolled up the hill (how did he climb this? Sam wondered, decided it was his mama, he'd damn well climb it) to Gertrud Kapelput's grave, and Sam snarled at the sight. "Shit." On the headstone, a white envelope shone against the dark gray of the marble. The sun glittered off of plastic wrap wrapped around the marker to hold it there. "Fuckin' bastard," Sam growled, and took one step toward it as Nick's hand pulled her back.

"Fucker. There's a trap here, Sis, you can fuckin' smell it. Now what did you use, you bastard? Scent it." Yes. She could smell it now, too, black powder. And the bastard had been careful of the sod, goddammit. 

"Nicky, we gotta get that down before he gets here," she whined. "You're right, it's a trap, it's meant to draw him close. You think it's a Betty?"

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe a couple of the little whores. Maybe something similar. But how the hell we gonna do that, Sis?"

"You think he trapped the graves next to it, or just this one? And hell, we can't leave it like this, bro, what about the groundskeepers? Little kids? Fucker didn't just put Oswald in danger, he didn't care about collateral damage." Nick leaned his head back, looked up at the sky.

"Okay," he said after a second. "I'm gonna get that fuckin' thing off there. When he's done, we call the cops on the way out of town, tell them to get the bomb squad out here. Best I can think of. We ain't got the shit to disarm it, and we ain't got a metal detector to make sure we get'em all. 'Cause there's more than one. I guaranfuckingtee there's more than one." He snarled. "And you gotta promise me I get a piece of this bastard, Sis."

Nick went up four plots, walked up beside the marker, and went four feet. Sam watched the gray wolf jump from one marker to the next, his claws scraping the marble and stone, until he stood on the marker beside Gertrud's. It was close enough that he was able to lean from the one he stood on to hers, brought a paw down on the plastic wrap once, twice, three times before his claws slashed it clear. Carefully, he tugged at it, slow and careful, until at last it fell, the envelope in its plastic bag still wrapped in it. He took the plastic in his teeth and backed away to the edge of the marker he stood on before turning to leap to the next, back to where he started. Only when he was safely away did he turn two feet again, picked up the bag that held the envelope, leaving the plastic wrap on the ground as Sam approached.

"Shit," he breathed. "I ain't held my breath like that since I was in country."

"That makes two of us," Sam agreed. "Let me see that -- oh, you fucking cunt, I hate you more, every time I think of you I think I can't hate you more, but I do, I do…" the words "OMEGA BITCH" were written on the back in big black letters. "No. I can't. I know I should, but I can't let him see this."

"No," Nick agreed. His phone went off in his pocket, and he pulled it up, answered. "Yeah. Okay, just a second." He muted it and looked at Sam. "Can they come or not?"

"Shit." Sam looked around, scanning for cameras again. They'd done it once already, seen none, but there could be, there could be, there were just too many places to hide one. "Fuck. Yeah. Tell him to come, but it's gonna have to be quick as fuck and we are on high alert, super fucking high alert, locked and loaded and open. And tell him about the Betties." She took her knife out and sliced the bag open from the side, poked the envelope. Well, it didn't blow up, that was a good thing. Carefully, she drew it through the slit in the bag, let it fall to the ground. She dug in her pockets for her keys, pulled up the keychain multitool and opened the pliers. 

She picked the envelope up using the pliers and slit it open away from her, downwind just in case the fucker had put anthrax or something in it. Nick came back up the hill to her, trading his phone for his own multitool. "We've got ten minutes before they get here."

"Good. Let's see if there's anything in here, take a picture, maybe, and then we burn it," Sam replied. Nick slid the edges of his pliers between the envelope's slit, opened it, nodded.

"Yeah. There's something in here."

"Take it out. Don't touch it with bare skin."

"No. Hang on." He dug in his jacket pocket, took out a cheap pair of gloves, tugged one on while pulling the sheet of paper out with his pliers. While he put his other glove on, Samantha held the envelope up between her pliers and set it on fire, making sure the nasty slur was burned away.

"Fucker," Nick said as he read the letter. "Fucker, Sammie, we gotta put this jackoff six feet under." 

"Hold it for me, I ain't got gloves," she said, and Nick held it so she could read it beside him.

  
  


"Omega.

Clever. Clever to take advantage of my carelessness. Your innate curiosity has been your downfall now, however. I know where you are. And you are lying bleeding on the ground. Waiting for me. As you should be. The pain you feel now shouldn't kill you, though if you ever walk again, I will be surprised. Omegas don't need feet to breed, after all.

I am coming, Omega. For you and my pups. I'll be there very shortly."

  
  


"Shit," Sammie breathed. "You think whatever he's got is triggered by the bombs, or --"

"I fuckin' hope so," Nick answered. "Hang on." He shifted again, went to the very edge of the grave, sniffed, keeping his nose well away from the ground. Went a careful few inches forward while Sammie watched, squatted down on the ground. He barked, came back to his sister and shifted back. "There's two cameras, about an inch down or so, just the lenses showin'. And a tripwire two inches past them. I figure he thought Mowgli'd see that shit, lose his temper, and go to get it. Figured either his umbreller or his bad foot, and I think he was setting it up for the bad foot, would catch. Tripwire's probably to the Betties, probably an alarm of some sort, too, remote."

"Shit. Should we let him read it, or…"

"Fuck, I don't know, Sam. What do you think?"

"I want to burn it," she admitted. "I want to burn it, and I want to go meet them at the gate and tell him no, it's too dangerous. And at the same time, I want to let him read it, I want to remind him he isn't alone now. He's got Pack, and we've got his back. And then…then I want him to go stand in front of those cameras and flip'em off." 

"I like your second option, Sis, I do," Nick admitted. "Fuck this bastard. We're not letting him keep Mowgli from his mama."

"Show me the cameras," she said, and Nick led her back over, pointed from well away.

"They'll show whoever's standing directly in front of the grave," he said. "Lucky us, we're smarter than that shit."

"Yep. We are. Think there's sound?"

"Maybe. Don't know for sure."

"Well. Motherfucker wanted a show? Motherfucker's gonna get a show. Fuck. Here they come."

The black wolf ran faster than she'd expected, his back right leg held up behind him as he approached. She could see the tears gleaming off his muzzle, Randy's big brown wolf behind him, Amy's golden wolf beside him. As he veered toward the grave, Amy snapped at his muzzle, herding him away, and he howled his frustration before barking sharply at her and trying again.

"No, honey, don't," Sam said, squatting down. "Come here, Mowgli, come see me. Please, honey, he wanted you to get hurt, you'll get hurt." He barked at her, too, before stopping in the middle of the path and howling loud and long. "I know, baby, I know. I know. We're gonna fuck him up, baby, I promise, but you need to come see me first, you need to shift back, we gotta palaver first, honey." He whined, but stayed still as she stood and approached him, kneeling next to him and opening her arms. "Come here, baby, come here," she said again, and he leapt into her arms, shifting between one breath and the next, struggling not to weep and failing.

"My mother, Samantha, he knew, he knew what she meant to me, my Mutti, Mutti," he said between tears, and Sam wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life, petting his tangled hair.

"I know. I know. We're gonna fuck him up good, Oswald, I promise, I promise. Come on. Come on, let's give him a fuckin' show, he wanted a show, let's fuckin' play mind games back. Fucker. I'm gonna rip his goddamn guts out and strangle him with'em," she promised. "I'm gonna feed him his own cock for Christ's sake, medium goddamn rare, honey." 

"She was the only person…the only person who ever loved me, Samantha, the only person who ever gave me anything besides a hard time…"

"Then I hope she's lookin' down and smilin', cause now you got Pack, honey, you got Pack to see to it nobody fucks with you no more," Sam said. "And we're gonna. We're gonna make this fucker regret the day he ever looked at you, the day he met you, he's gonna regret it, he is, I swear by the mountains of the moon, darlin', I am gonna make this fucker beg for death." He took a deep, shuddering breath in her arms, raised his face and screamed in frustration and anger, and she kept holding on, petting and comforting as best she could.

  
  
  


Edward sat down at his computer and cleaned his glasses. He had watched the surveillance cameras at Gertrud's grave obsessively at first, thinking that surely the black wolf would go to the one place of comfort he'd ever known. After the first two weeks, however, he'd realized his mistake. Now he checked the feed from his phone every so often during the day, and went over it on fast forward in the evenings. He pulled up the feed to show only blackness. Strange. He should be seeing the light from the street. He checked the feed. Interrupted at 1:32 p.m. Odd. He clicked the saved video and gasped.

Oswald stood there, leaning on a cane, dressed in jeans and flannel, a black leather jacket that was too big for him wrapped around him. Ed checked for sound. There was some. He scrolled back further by thirty seconds, a minute, two minutes. Three. Four. There. There was the start. Oswald approached, his eyes red. He was barely showing, that wasn't right. He should be, he should be fat with pups already, shouldn't he? Ed did the math quickly while Oswald spoke quietly in German. He heard the words "Mutti," and "Ich liebe dich," passed it off. He was talking to his mother. He hadn't limped forward to tear the letter from her stone? Wait. Who was that? Who was that over his shoulder? A tall brown haired woman in a Black Sabbath tee shirt, another flannel shirt over it, stood over Oswald's left shoulder. Her lips were curled up in a snarl as she looked down…directly at the camera. Two more heads appeared over her shoulders. Alpha, she was Alpha, what was another Alpha doing near his Omega? And they -- they resembled her. Her brothers, perhaps, Betas both, he could tell that. 

"And I've made new friends, Mother," Oswald said in English. "Very good friends indeed." The strange Alpha bowed her head, the Betas doing the same.

"It's our pleasure and our privilege to meet you, Mrs. Kapelput," the Alpha said, her voice carrying some hick accent. "Just as it's our privilege and our pleasure to call your son our PackBrother."

"I love you, Mutti. I'll be back again when I can." Ed watched as another Omega, a small blonde woman, helped Oswald kneel to kiss his fingers and lay them on the grave, then stand again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've something to say to Edward." His electric gaze turned to the camera. "Hello, Edward. Not how you expected to see me, was it?" His left hand reached toward the Alpha beside him, and she walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around him, both hands covering his belly. "The pups are fine, glad you asked. Raksha has graciously offered to give them her name." The Alpha's snarling smile set Ed off.

"No! They're mine, he's mine, you stupid cunt, get the hell away! Get your hand off of him!"

"It's my honor, darlin'," the Alpha said sweetly before laying her head on Oswald's shoulder, kissing the pale skin of his neck. "Hi, Ed. Get a good look at my face, motherfucker. Get a real good look. Get my good side, asshole. 'Cause this is the last thing you're gonna see before you die. Screaming. Screaming till your throat bursts. I am Raksha, I am the She-Demon. And you, Shere Khan, have no voice and no place and no power over me and mine, no voice and no power over the Free People. And my Mowgli is mine. He is mine, and he and his children are of the Free People. And you're a white trash piss poor excuse for a human being. You're no Alpha."

"You're so eloquent, darling," Oswald said as he squeezed the hand over his belly, leaned his head back against her shoulder. "Though I do hope you'll try to hold back in front of the babies."

"Anything you ask of me," she agreed. "Alpha serves."

"So you do. Now. Get a good look, as she said. Because this is the closest you will ever come to my children, Edward. My children. You donated the sperm. That's all. And she's right about another thing, too. You're a horrid disgrace to the word Alpha, and you're a sad excuse of a human being. Though part of me thinks I ought to thank you. Had you not done as you did, I would never have found my Pack. So I'll thank you for that much. Otherwise…well." Now he snarled, and Ed jerked back. He thought he'd seen Oswald angry when Gertrud died. Apparently not. "You defaced my mother's grave. You have no shame and no honor and I will be beside Raksha as you scream, and I'll be who ends your miserable life. I promise it. Until we meet again, Edward. Pray that day is not soon." 

"Gonna cut you up real good, fuckface," the Alpha promised cheerily. "Gonna set the Red Flower to your tail, Shere Khan. Mark me. Mark me well." She stepped back and Oswald followed, leaving the two Betas and the other Omega standing in front of the cameras. The tallest, built like a football player, spoke first.

"I am Hathi. I am Mowgli's PackBrother, and I tell you, Shere Khan, you will die for your crimes." The blond bearded man stepped up beside him.

"I am Baloo. I am Mowgli's PackBrother, and I swear to you, Shere Khan, for all of your crimes, you will bleed." 

"I am Kaa," the little blonde Omega woman said after joining the other two. "I am Mowgli's PackSister, and I declare, Shere Khan, for your crimes, for your actions, you will scream." The Alpha rejoined them, and the four spoke as one.

"For this is the Law of the Jungle, as old and as true as the Sky. And the Wolf that shall keep it shall prosper, while the Wolf who would break it must die." They walked away, and he heard the Alpha say, "Come on, darlin', let's go," in the distance. The feed showed blue sky for another hour before the image of a bomb squad cop in full gear showed in the camera. 

He snarled and turned the feed off. How? How had they known? Who were they? Using names from the Jungle Book of all things, a children's story, a fucking children's story, who were they to threaten him, to try to frighten him! He'd kill them all and make Oswald watch, especially that bitch, he'd cut her fingers off a knuckle at a time, she'd be the one screaming her throat out, stupid cunt! He hacked into the surveillance cameras around the cemetery, the street cameras for speeders, watched as the Alpha cunt and Oswald got into a red Chevy Cobalt, the other Omega and the two Betas into a blue Camry. The license plates, the license plates, could he see them? Yes. Running them through the DMV showed them as Enterprise rentals. Damn. Damn it! So close! So very, very close to having his Omega and his pups back where they belonged! 

He screamed in frustration, punched his desk as he pushed himself back from it. How had they gotten the collar off? How had they -- and Oswald looked so different now…so sure of himself…it was the Alpha bitch. It was. "Take my Omega, take my pups," he growled as he stalked through the apartment to his bedroom, looked at the cage he'd installed. The perfect size and height. Two days. He'd missed having his Omega in it by two damn days. "But you will be," he said to himself. "I'll find you. I'll bite you this time, Omega. I will. And you'll submit perfectly afterwards."

  
  
  


Amy sucked in her breath as they pulled up in front of the sprawling mansion at the edge of town. Samantha sent Nick in first, he had the best nose, and he sniffed all over the porch before shifting back and waving. The Pack, the entire Pack, moved in diamond formation with Oswald in the middle, through the double doors, down a long hallway, scenting every moment for any fresh scent and finding none. 

"Goddamn, baby," Samantha breathed as they entered his office, as he made his way to the freestanding safe behind the desk. The walls of the room were lined with bookshelves, each at least fifteen feet high, and all of them full. 

"Knowledge is power," he murmured as he twisted the dial, jerked the door open and reached in. Past the jewelry, past the tiny objets d'art, two shelves below the bearer bonds, far in the back, was the only thing he'd come to get. He took the small gray jeweler's box out and slipped it in his pocket, closed the safe again and twirled the dial, grabbed the picture of himself and Mutti from his desk. "Let's go."

"Ain't got to tell me twice," Samantha answered, and they moved out the same way they'd come in, he and Samantha in the red Cobalt, the boys and Amy following in the Camry. Up to the highway, off the state highway onto the Turnpike, and heading for Atlantic City now, where they'd turn in these rented cars and pick up a couple more, doubling back over to Pittsburgh where they'd pick up the truck again before heading west, back to the far side of the Smokies. With every mile that Gotham fell behind them, he breathed just a little easier, just a bit more freely, eased just that tiny bit more. 

He shifted, Mother's ring in its box digging into his hip. Not yet. Not yet. But it wouldn't be long, he knew, he was sure. He did need her. More than air. And when the time came, when at last he was positive, he would ask her to never leave. He watched her flip her sunglasses down, settle back into her seat. So lovely. So sweet. So protective. So deadly. The dichotomy that was Samantha, and he was a hair's breadth from being in love with her. 

"Baby, do me a favor and put on the ZZ Top collection," she said. "Great music to drive by."

"Any specific song to start with?" he asked as he scrolled through her iPod.

"Tush, I think. Thank you." 

"You're welcome," he replied, and looked down at the picture in his lap as the miles rolled by, as the song played. Oh, Mother would not have been happy. Not with the Pack in general, no matter how pleasant their manners were, and most especially not with Samantha. But Mother hadn't always been right. He knew that, he'd always known that. 

"Don’t go fallin' asleep on me, baby, we got two hours yet to Atlantic City, then another five to Pittsburgh. Gonna stay the night there, I reckon, it'll make the most sense. You want to share with me again or --"

"Yes," he interrupted her. "Anytime we have to stay anywhere, yes, from now on." 

"Okay, baby." She reached for his hand, kissed his knuckles. "Not a problem."

"Samantha?"

"Yes, baby."

"Tell me what you know about bonding," he asked, and watched her do a double take, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"You don't want --"

"No, no. But what do you know about it?"

"Jesus. Okay. Well, there's…shit. You sure know how to pick topics, Oswald." She let go of his hand, turned the music down. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Mother was Beta, and she wanted me to pass. I haven't…I've been so focused on that, I haven't done as much research as I should."

"Christ on his cross. Okay. I…you should talk to Amy about stuff, too, okay, please, she's smart, she's a nurse, she knows shit. All I know is what I've read and what Granddaddy told me."

"First, you're smart, too. But start with that. With what he told you." Oswald nestled into his seat, getting comfortable to listen to her.

"Shit. Okay. Uh. Well, first that bond, a true bond, between an Alpha and Omega is supposed to be the greatest honor an Alpha can be given. For an Omega to trust them enough to allow it. True bond, that is, and not just a link."

"Okay, wait," he said, digging out his phone. "I want to record you or take notes or something."

"Okay." She waited until he was ready before going on. "So you know there's a difference between a bond and a link, right?"

"No. Tell me."

"If I were to…hell. Okay. If I were to bite you, and you were…ambiguous about it, or were less…less enthusiastic, we'll say, than I was, it would create a link, not a bond. Now with a link, I'd have a vague, a very vague, sense of whether you were okay or not. I might, depending, have a vague sense of where you were. Within say, ten miles. Same back again. You'd have that knowledge, too. You wouldn't be able to tell what I was actually feeling, no sense of my emotions, no sense of my thoughts. 

"A bond, on the other hand, when both the Alpha and Omega want it, when they love each other and they want to be as close as they can be without sharing skin, you get those things. I'd know what you were feeling, whether you were upset, whether you were happy, scared, whatnot. You'd know the same. Some pairs get more than that, there's documentation of bondmates who ended up practically telepathic. And no matter how far away we were, no matter what was between us, I'd be able to find you, and you'd be able to find me. No matter what, it's like…it's almost like tracking devices, it's that accurate, because a bond is…sharing a bond is practically trading pieces of our souls. 

"I'd be able to share even more of my strength, my speed, my healing with you. That'd be something you might want to think about in your line of work, darlin'. But that's all the…more the clinical stuff. What Granddaddy said, what he told me was that a real bond is the most precious gift an Alpha can ever be given. Ever. 'Cause like I said a minute ago, it's almost like trading pieces of your souls. He also said that it's hard, it's one of the hardest things a pair can take on, because while sure, I'd be able to tell if you were say, irritated over something, I wouldn't know over what unless you told me. And if you got in a snit, and don't say you don't get into snits 'cause I've seen it, and didn't want to tell me, I'd have to just sit there and feel it. That's it. Just feel it. And know something was wrong and not be able to fix it, and let me tell you something, there ain't nothin' worse for an Alpha like me, an old-school Alpha if you will, than seeing something's wrong, knowing something's wrong, and not knowing how to fix it, baby.

"So in a bond, a true bond, communication is even more important than in a regular relationship. Because resentment from not communicating can build more quickly. Now in a link, there's not that deep sharing of souls. It's a…more of a surface type thing. A lot of people think they're bonded, they ain't, they're just linked. If an Omega's bitten against their will, that's the weakest link of all; there's still a connection, but it's real vague, real damn vague, and from my readin', now, I can't say this for sure and I sure wish you'd ask Amy on this, that's the only time half of a pair can die and it don't backlash on the other. 

"That's the dangerous part of bonding, true bonding. If…if we…if we was to take that step. True bonding. And somethin' happened to you. If I were left behind. I'd say the name. I would. 'Cause I'd go crazy mournin' otherwise." She stopped speaking, took a long deep breath against the tears the thought of possibly losing him brought her to. "An' I'd ride. I'd ride that horse of night and starlight so fast to catch up to you, darlin', I ain't sure even the Hunter could keep up with me."

"Not happening," he murmured, taking her hand again. "I have too much to do."

"Now how did I know you was gonna say that, Oswald?" she smiled, though he could still see the tears shining in her eyes. "Now tell me, baby, tell me why you asked. You don't do nothin' without a reason."

"I told you. Mother never talked to me about these things. I presented at twelve, and she was…she was frightened. She was Beta, so is my father." He sighed. "Mother was an immigrant. From Poland. German-Polish, she spoke both, I grew up speaking both. And in Poland…Omegas are still…there were still challenges going on over there when she left, for example. An Alpha was allowed to come and take an Omega if he or she could, as soon as they presented. So she was very, very frightened of anyone finding out I was Omega, and she brought beta scent and scent suppressants the day after my first heat. The very day after. And told me…things I don't want to repeat. About what she had seen in her youth. And I was twelve, and scared, and…"

"And your mama was your world," Samantha said as he trailed off. "Of course she was tellin' you the truth about how dangerous it was. And darlin', in your city, a kid Omega without nobody to help'em out? It might have been, it might real well have been. Grabbed off the street and sold or somethin' to a brothel or to some Alpha who didn’t have no morals. She was tryin' to do right by you, I'm sure. What makes me curious is why you never really looked into it when you got grown." She glanced over. "Before you became…big time."

"When I was still a straight, you mean?" he asked, and she nodded. "Because first, I didn't have time. When I was working back of house…I started working at fourteen. Under the table. Dishwashing, cleaning, whatever. Half minimum wage, because it was under the table, fine, it was more money than we had, cash, paid out every day. Four to midnight. School every day. I worked there for four years, they bumped me up to payroll when I was sixteen. I didn't have time then. And then when I graduated…when I graduated, I knew I couldn't be a cook, you have to be able to move fast, and I can't. I still learned, watched, did as much as I could. And I learned enough about the paperwork involved, about how much to add to the invoices to keep Don Maroni happy, I got bumped up to kitchen manager by the time I was twenty. More responsibility, at the restaurant by ten in the morning, not getting home until well after midnight most nights because someone would call in, someone would do the damn paperwork wrong, someone would fuck up somewhere because they were too stoned or too fucking lazy to do things right." He leaned on the window.

"I was twenty-one, finally, and I kept seeing these men, these "men of respect," he made the air quotes with his fingers, "come in and drop hundreds on meals. Hundreds on bottles of wine, and here I was busting my ass to make ends meet for myself, I'd finally moved out, finally, I was paying my rent and mother's and trying to help her with anything I could. And I finally thought, fuck it. Why should I slave back here when these ruffians, fucking hooligans who have no discretion, no taste, common instinct and very little in the way of true intelligence, make that kind of money for very little other than beating the hell out of someone? Why should I?"

Samantha stayed quiet, letting him speak. He wasn't talking about what she'd asked, not really, but he was talking. He was letting her in. Letting her know who he was, where he'd come from. 

"So I started listening more," he went on. "I started hanging more near the kitchen door, leaving the office door open, and listening to their conversations. Listening and watching to see who received the most deference, who was in charge. I couldn't, I thought I couldn't be exactly what they were. But I found ways. It took me years, but I found ways to make myself invaluable, I found ways to triple cross all three of the major bosses in Gotham, and I ended up on top. Finally. All the money, all the power I could want. Ever. But it cost me Mother. First her trust. And then her." He traced her face in the photograph he still held on his lap. 

"I'm sorry," Samantha said at last. "I'm so sorry."

"If one of the babies is a girl, her name will be Gertrud Eva, just like Mother," he said after a moment. "I'm still not sure of any boys' names…James, maybe…but I know that much." 

"Okay. Your babies, darlin', you name'em. I ain't gettin' invested there."

"Our babies, Samantha, you said," he replied, and she nodded.

"Ours, absolutely, but that's yours. I'll…I'll save any names I want to use…just in case. Maybe someday."

"You've thought about that?" he asked, and she nodded again.

"Oh God yes. But I ain't askin'. I want you to know that. I ain't. You don't never have to share your heat with me if you don't want. Never." She shook her head. 

"Samantha…" he paused. "How long until we get there?"

"Where? Atlantic City?"

"Yes."

"Um, about an hour, I think? Give or take ten minutes. Why?" 

"I wanted to make sure we had time for me to talk about this, and I'm not sure we do," he said, looking out the window. "Are we taking one car or two to Pittsburgh?"

"Three, Amy's driving one with Nick, Randy's driving one, we're in one. I called dibs on the Mercury." She reached over to touch his shoulder. "You want to wait and talk about it on the road to Pitt? You don't have to talk about it at all if you don't want, baby, whatever it is…"

"Yes, please. And yes, I do, and more, I want to ask you, Samantha. I want to ask you, do you always give up what you want for everyone else? Do you really?"

"The hell are you talkin' about?" she asked, puzzled.

"You just offered to…to counteract your own nature, Samantha, your instincts and innate sexual drive, if I wanted."

"Yep. I did. Because I care about you and I respect you and I respect your choices. Do I want to share heat with you? Oh sweet Christ I'd give up my left hand for it, yes. In a heartbeat. But I want, I need you to know I don't just fuckin' expect it just because I'm an Alpha and you're an Omega and we're together. I'm all about consent and mutual respect, sweetheart. And consent one heat doesn't mean I expect your consent the next time, either. I ain't takin' you for granted. Not ever. An' if you ever think I am, you tell me. I cherish you, Oswald. I treasure you. And if we only ever have Beta sex, darlin', that's the tiniest price to pay to be your lady." 

What was he supposed to say to that, what could a person say to something like that? All he could do, she was driving, he couldn't kiss her, couldn't hug her, had no words, she had left him, him, speechless…all he could do was take her free hand again and bring it to his heart. 

  
  
  
  


"I was never a popular person," he said a few hours later, and she turned the music down so she could hear him better. "Never. I always carried the…the name. And I still don't like it, I use it, but I don't like it. I've never had a great many friends, I never…I suppose it stems from being teased so much, partially. I'm afraid if we had met under any other circumstances, Samantha, we would not be where we are. I wouldn't have been able to begin to trust you, any of you. 

"Edward helped me when I was in a great deal of trouble, right after Mother's death, when…in circumstances that were not favorable to me. He helped me avenge myself on the man who killed her. Helped me when I was…I was, I was suicidal. Or I thought he had helped me. And I, in return, I taught him how to kill a little more efficiently, taught him how to be…how to shed the skin he was living in. I thought he was my friend. I thought we shared enough of a past, enough of a background, that he would not betray me, that he would always be someone I could count on, I would always be able to trust him. Obviously, I was wrong." Bitter laughter followed that statement, as Samantha listened.

"He asked me to his place, his new place. Wanted to show me his new apartment, wanted to talk about the Feyrie contacts he was making, he'd found a way, I don't know how even now. It's harder there, I think it's a different court?" She looked over to make sure he wanted her to answer, and nodded at his gaze.

"Lyonesse," she said. "Anneliese du Laq is the Queen of that Court, and she's pure crazy wrapped in mad, baby. Lyonesse ain't a Court a wise mortal deals with. Ever."

"And the one you're involved with?"

"Hell, I ain't involved with no Court," she answered. "Nope. I did a service for the King of the Court of Annwn, Death's Hunter. That's all. I ain't never been to Court, I ain't never called on him, I ain't never tried and I ain't never gonna."

"Eena and Kenneth?"

"Nicky found Eena in a bad way somewheres Kenny couldn't get to her," Samantha answered. "They're more Nicky's friends than mine, though they're always real nice to me. An' I think Eena likes me all right. Kenny's…what you saw the night we got you back two foot? That's the most Kenny's ever spoke to me. He's always been real reserved around me. Polite, all right, Feyrie take courtesy real serious, but not real friendly."

"I knew they took courtesy seriously. That's the reason Edward…he wasn't sure on the courtesies, is what he told me when he called, asked me to come by. Wasn't positive, wanted my opinion, played to my vanity. I'm a vain man, Samantha. Especially when it comes to my knowledge, my intelligence." He sighed. "And I played right into his hands. It had been too long since I'd seen anyone whose vocabulary used multisyllabic words. Butch and Gabe are both loyal and obedient, but not exactly top deck. Not a word, Samantha. Not one, I enjoy speaking with you, and yes, you are." He watched her shake her head, a small smile crossing her face.

"But I digress. It was early evening. I thought everything was fine, I thought I would go see Edward, we'd discuss his issue, perhaps other business, we'd share a glass of wine, and I'd be back at the club in an hour or two. I left Gabe behind. I simply left, got a cab, went to Ed's. Not a hard thing, I'd done it before, and sometimes, sometimes I didn’t want a shadow. Sometimes that grows very annoying. 

"He hit me with tone within seconds of my entering his apartment. Seconds. Perhaps, we might have exchanged a few pleasantries, but that's all. And the next thing I knew…the next thing I knew, he was sniffing at my neck, he was telling me exactly what he wanted, exactly what he was going to do, and there was nothing I could do about it. I've been helpless before, I've been hopeless before, but dear God I never want to be in that position again. Not that. 

"And then the collar. He snapped it in place, it forced me into form, and I hate being in form. I hate it. It's awkward, it's annoying, I feel very helpless in form. It's undignified. It's uncivilized. I know you enjoy it, I know the rest of the Pack enjoys it, but I do not. I never have. And now, I doubt I ever do." He shuddered.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry he stole that from you, darlin'. Real sorry, 'cause it can be lots of fun. It really can," she offered. "But don't you worry on that score, ain't nobody -- you can puppy pile without bein' in form. We understand."

"That's another thing, some other time, my hesitance with piling, but not the point now --"

"It's your lack of trust. But you're Pack now, you should know we love you, Oswald, don't you know that yet?"

"Oh God yes, don't doubt that I know that now. I have to work through that, I will. Don't doubt that I know that now. It's…it's like living your entire life in the desert, and then being taken to a lake where the water is always crystal pure and cool. It takes an adjustment. But again, not the point now. 

"He put the collar on, and then he couldn't get it off. He didn't have the counterspell. He didn't know how to take it off, and he…I don't know why he didn't contact the Feyrie who sold it to him, maybe he did, maybe they wanted more to give him the counterspell and he couldn't get the price before my heat. I don't know. But he…as a dog, Samantha. He shifted, and he…"

"Oh, hell fuckin' no, hell motherfuckin' no, tell me you did not just say what you just said," she growled. "No, baby, no, I'm going back, I'm goin' back on Fantasy and I'm hunting his ass down and killing him as soon as I get you safe home, I swear to God, darlin', no…"

"No, you're not. I need you with me. I do, Samantha, I need you with me, we'll go back and kill him in a few months, but I need you with me now." She looked over at him, her eyes wide and red with rage, far past the golden hue that usually glowed when her inner wolf rose.

"He fuckin' stole something precious from you. He fuckin' ripped you of your dignity, he fuckin' debased you, darlin', and I want his fuckin' blood on my fangs and I want it now, I want it, I want it now, because I love that about you, I do, and I'm gonna have his goddamn --" She turned away, rolled down the window and screamed out of it, screamed her rage and indignation into the highway wind. She screamed until she ran out of breath, and then she screamed again, the scream turning into a howl before she could shake herself back into her human skin and mind.

"He's a disgustin' excuse for a fuckin' person," she said when she had a little more control. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, so fuckin' sorry, Alphas ain't supposed to do shit like that, we ain't, we ain't…" She rolled the window back up, tried to breathe deeply, to calm down, he didn't need her bloodlust right now, he didn't…

"You need to know," he said after a few minutes. "You needed to know, so when…so when things…things happen, when I do share that with you, you know I've never. Not…not as…not two foot." He watched her struggle to put her wolf away again, watched her parse through his words, hard as it was through her bloodlust still so close to the surface.

"Okay," she said at last. "Okay. You're right. I needed to know that, you're right, but goddamn. Promise me I'll get to rip him to shreds, darlin'. Promise me. His death's yours, I done said, but I wanna make him suffer for you, I do. I'll waterboard him, I'll skin him, I'll set him on fire, whatever, but you can't tell me things like that and expect me to act like a tame wolf, Oswald, you can't."

"I don't. I expect you to stay with me until we're ready, until we have a plan, until I have the children. And then we'll go hunting, Samantha. Side by side." 

"He's livin' on borrowed goddamn time, baby. Every fuckin' breath he breathes is just 'cause you say so." Her knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, tried so hard to calm down, so hard, she wanted to rip and shred and tear flesh, she wanted to bring the fucker in chains to him, she wanted blood. She wanted blood and she wanted it now, goddamn it, she wanted it. She didn't want to wait six months, eight, whatever, she wanted it now.

But that wasn’t what he wanted, and he was the wounded party, he was who decided this. If he was one of the Free People, then he decided this, he was a grown up, he was sane, he made his own decisions. The Pack was sworn to aid, the Pack would aid, and she, though Alpha, had to respect his decisions. Or else she was no better than the bastard who'd hurt him. She had to calm down, and she had to accept. 

"Do me a favor, please," she said when she could speak again. "Bloodletting playlist, Child of Calamity and then Arkansas Killing Time, and after that hopefully I'll be more able to talk. I got something to say but I'm too mad right now." As the shouting vocals began the first song, she felt herself begin to relax, just a bit, enough to be able to loosen her grip on the steering wheel, first one hand and then the other, saw where her claws had grown out, where she'd driven them into her own flesh, never feeling it. 

When the songs she had requested ended, she turned the volume on the radio all the way down. "I know I act awful rough and tumble," she began. "I know I do. I know I am, getting the work done, playin' with the brothers, and all. But I can be, I will be, gentle. I promise. If, if you choose to share heat with me, I promise, I'll be as gentle as you want. I'll take my time, I'll be easy, and you won't never regret it, not for a minute. Nothin' but pleasure in my den. I don't play hurtin' games, I most certainly do not have a four foot kink. You are never, as far as I am concerned, never going to have to endure that again. Ever. Am I clear?"

"As crystal."

"Good. And thank you. Thank you for telling me, thank you for trusting me with it, thank you so much for trusting me at all. I wouldn't blame you if you don't ever want to share heat. If you do, though, I'll consider it what it is, an honor and a gift and an experience to treasure." 

  
  
  


"Twins," the doctor said on Monday afternoon. "You're carrying twins, Mr. Potter. Would you like to know what they are?"

"Yes. Please," he asked. Cold gel on his belly, the ultrasound finding the two easily…

"Girls, both girls, looks like to me," the doctor said after a few minutes. "Do you have names picked out?"

"Gertrud Eva and Gabrielle Carina," he said, and the doctor nodded. 

"Lovely. Now. You're twenty-two weeks; you'll probably be entering pregnancy heat in about two weeks more --"

"Pregnancy heat? What's that? I've never heard of that," he said as he sat up.

"Oh. Well, it's exactly as it sounds. It's a false heat, lasts about three days. Now I understand the true sire's not in the picture?"

"No. Not at all." His voice turned to ice. 

"Do you have another Alpha to help you out? Do you know anyone? We can make arrangements…"

"I do."

"Okay, great, because pregnancy heat needs to be serviced properly, even if it's short, especially for male Omega. The scent and the change in hormones helps your body finish preparing for delivery in a few months. I really wish you'd been able to come in earlier, but the babies seem perfectly healthy. Your weight's a little worrying, you're still kind of underweight. Please eat more, especially leafy green vegetables, milk, cheese, eggs. Your blood sugars are good. I'm putting your delivery date at....January 12th or so. Twins usually come early, and if you conceived around the first week of May, you'd normally be delivering late January, early February…."

Samantha was changing the oil in the truck when they got back from the doctor, Randy's little Ranger rolling up into the circle drive making her slide out from under just a little fast. She was wiping her hands on the shop towel when she heard Oswald call her name. "I'm comin', darlin'," she shouted from the open garage door. "Gimme a minute, I ain't nice." She tossed the shop towel on the back fender of the truck as she headed up the hill to the house, jogging up the porch steps and reaching for the screen door just as he appeared on the other side of it, glaring at her. "Hell's bells, what did I do, baby?"

"Pregnancy heat," he said, and watched her look at him, puzzled. "You didn't know?"

"The hell is pregnancy heat? Mama was a Beta, darlin', and by the time we all come along, Mamaw was way past her heats."

"Amy didn't tell you about it?"

"Hell no, what the fuck, Oswald, I'm confused," she said, stepping inside and wiping her feet on the mat as he walked away from the door. "The hell did I do?"

"Nothing, apparently, I'm sorry," he said, leaning against the counter. "I thought you knew."

"Jesus Christ on his cross, darlin', I don't know nothin' about Omega pregnancies. Please enlighten me. And tell me you're okay and the babies are okay. Please?" she asked, going to the sink beside him and washing her hands. 

"The doctor said I'm still a little underweight. Which pisses me off, because I think I'm huge," he said, and Samantha had to turn her head to hide a smile. He was barely showing. "I'm three pants sizes larger than I used to be."

"I'm sure you'll lose it right back, darlin'. Go on."

"Damn right I will. The babies are fine. Do you want to know what they are?"

"Oh, please," Samantha begged as she dried her hands. "Please, darlin'?"

"Twins. Both girls," he said, and Samantha whooped.

"Yee-haw, princesses! Gonna be Princess Leia types, or what's her name from the Brave thing, the archery girl…"

"Merida. And the new Rapunzel wasn't exactly a damsel in distress," he said, coloring as she raised an eyebrow. "Shut up. It was on one night and I couldn't sleep."

"I ain't sayin' a word. You got one name, I know, what are you doin' for the other?"

"Gabrielle. Gabrielle Carina."

"Oh, darlin', your boy'll cry. For serious. So Trudy and Gabby. Or Bree. That's fantastic, darlin'. I'm so glad you're healthy and they're healthy. We got a due date yet?"

"Mid-January," he said as she settled an arm around his back. "And we really have to talk, Samantha."

"About what?" she asked.

"Pregnancy heat! I can't -- this is an awfully small house," he hissed. 

"We'll go to Council Rock. It won't be a thing. Trust me." She leaned in and kissed his neck. "You want to go see it?"

"Yes. Please."

"Let me finish with the truck, I'll take you up there. Half an hour." She hesitated before she hit the screen door. "Darlin', you sure you want me to --"

"You have to. The doctor said it's imperative that…that I be "serviced", he made the air quotes, "during pregnancy heat. It's a hormone thing, it helps the hormones change for delivery."

"Oh, shit. Hell. Okay. I just wanted to make sure you wanted me to."

"I do. I wasn't expecting it this soon, but yes, Samantha."

  
  


"You've got to be kidding me," he said as she unhooked the camouflage tarp, as the bomb shelter door shone in the afternoon sun. "A bunker. Your father somehow came up with the cash to have a bomb shelter bunker put in when Amy presented."

"Nope. Me and the boys did. Oh, he put up the highway frontage for the mortgage, but me and the boys did direct payments to the bank. She was twelve, we was all in service by then. Come on, it ain't bad, I promise."

Eyes rolling so hard she was surprised they didn't stay that way, he followed her inside. And was pleasantly surprised. The entryway was narrow, but once you got past it, it opened up into a unexpectedly large room, half of which appeared to be a small kitchenette, the other half of which was covered with cushions and pillows and blankets. A padded chest fit snugly against the wall. "That's usually where Amy nests up," Samantha said, nodding toward the cushions. "I hope you don't mind, I don't want to use that part. Kinda…just kinda weird to me. Come on back." She moved past the open area to the very back door, opened it and turned on the light. 

The back bedroom had a queen bed and two nightstands, the furniture practically filling the room. "I know it's a little snug," Samantha said, "but really, I just…my sister nests in the other room, you know? It'd be really kind of weird to me."

"It would be," he agreed. "She doesn't use this room?"

"Not that I've ever known of," Samantha replied. "Is it okay? Or should I try to find somethin' else?"

He went to the bed, sat down and then laid back on it. "Firm," he said appreciatively. "I need more pillows and cushions and blankets. Fresh ones, not anything from Amy's stuff."

"We'll go to town tomorrow and see to it," Samantha agreed, and he looked around a little more. It was a small room, yes, and it would be snug, but then, it hadn't been built for comfort, had it? And it really wasn't as if he would notice when the heat began. He'd be too busy vacillating between lust and loneliness. He shuddered. "Baby, don't worry, please don't worry, I'll be real sweet, I promise I will," Samantha said from the door. 

"I hate it," he said after a minute. "I just hate it, Samantha, you have no idea how much I hate heat, I detest it, it's…it's demeaning. It was demeaning before…before, and it's just that much more now." 

"I'm sorry," Samantha said from the door. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry you feel like that."

"It's disgusting, it's demeaning, it's humiliating, it's degrading. I'm not even…I can't even be trusted to eat on my own, the…the drive is so strong. To have to depend on others to even…I hate it," he hissed. 

"What's the worst part? And how can I make it better?" she asked. "How can I make it not so bad?"

"You can't. I…it's a personal thing." It was the loss of control, the loss of his intellect, the fact that he was reduced to a begging slut who wanted, for those few days, wanted nothing more than to be fucked, constantly, needed it more than food, more than sleep, more than air…that for those few days, just then and only then, he wanted to be an Alpha's bitch, wanted to be bred, needed to be full of cock or clit…

"Well I sure can't help with it if I don't know what you want, darlin'," Samantha said. "All I can do is promise to treat you right. And that this is the only time I'll ever do this, if that's what you want. Next time, reckon you can do like Amy does and just come up and lock the door. I'll have Randy or Amy come check on you." She straightened. "You ready to go?"

"I suppose." 

  
  


Friday night, Amy cast on the second sock of the new pair she was knitting for Nicky and sighed as she heard the back door slam shut behind Samantha. Nick and Randy looked up from their chess game. "They're fighting," Nick said. "Why the hell are they fighting?"

"They're not," Amy said as she began the pattern. "He's pushing her away."

"Why?" Just then, Fantasy roared to life out back, peeled out, scattering gravel across the yard. "Oh, hell," Nick said, getting up. "I better go --"

"Nope. I'll go," Randy said. "Reckon she's goin' to Rusty's."

"She'll get in a fight sure as shit," Nick said, and Randy nodded as he got his coat, picked up his keys.

"I know. Might be the best thing for her. Gettin' her ass kicked might drive some damn sense in her head." He waited a beat. "Get your coat, Nick. We might need you to ride Fantasy home --" The crash of metal clanging rang up through the still night. "Shit!" The three ran out to the porch, shifting as they went, running down to the gate. She had been going too fast, hadn't made the curve…Fantasy lay on her side, still running, the front wheel and fender bent to hell and back. Samantha lay a few feet away, pushing herself up and snarling.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Samantha?" Randy asked as he shifted back and bent next to her. "Jesus, you know better than to take that curve at more than twenty…" 

"I'm fine, just my goddamn dignity's fucked," she swore. "And my bike. Goddamn it." Nicky wrestled the bike up onto her wheels, turned the key. "Give me a minute, I'll walk her home."

"Nope," Nick said. "I will, you let Amy check you out real quick, okay? Make sure you ain't broke nothin'." 

"My bike. My wreck. My fault. I'll do it," Sammie argued. "You can check and make sure I didn't warp the gate. If I did, then I'll have to come fix that in the morning, like I ain't got enough to worry about."

"Stop it, Sammie. Stop it," Randy said. "Listen, you can't keep doing this, you can't --"

"I ain't doin' nothin'. I just was gonna go have a ride and try to cool off. That's all," she said, sitting up with a grimace. "And I can't even do that right, now." She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face for a moment. 

"The hell are you two fighting about, anyway?" Randy asked her.

"Fuck, I don't know. And that's just it. We ain't fighting. We ain't even talking more than two or three words at a time now. He just won't. He's shoving me away already and it hurts, LitterBrother, it hurts…I expected it after he had the babies, not yet, I thought I had months yet, I did…" she shook her head, wiped her eyes with her shirt. "I couldn't see. I was cryin' and I couldn't see." 

"Gate looks okay from what I can see," Nick said, coming back to where Samantha leaned on her brother, where Amy was pressing on her legs, on her back. "Come back down in the daylight and look again. You sure you want to push her back? You sure you can?"

"Yep. I got this," Samantha said, pushing herself up to her feet with a muted snarl. "My bike. My wreck. My fault." 

"You've got to be kidding me," Randy said. "Not your fault."

"Is my fault. I knew better than to ride her as fast as I was, I knew better than to ride upset, I knew…hell. I knew better. Just leave it at that. I don't know what the deal is, but I knew better than to unlock that box." She shrugged. "Y'all go on back to the house. I'll be there in a little while." She dusted off her jeans, noted the new holes. "Sissy, gonna need patches again. Hell, I'm gonna have to go get the truck, I think. Ain't gonna be no pushing her home. Doesn't look like I busted a tank, that's good. Lost the footpeg, though. And the paint's fucked, so's the chrome." She shook her head. "There's a couple grand at least."

"At least you've got it now," Nick said, looking at the bike with her. 

"Yeah." Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets as she looked down at her most prized possession. "Reckon so."

"Sis, you're gonna be okay, right? You ain't bad hurt, right?" Nick asked, and Sammie knew he wasn't just talking about the scrapes she had.

"I'll be fine, baby brother. Don't you worry none." 

"You sure?"

"I promise. I'll be fine." One booted foot kicked at the mangled front wheel. "Too tough to be anything else. Too tough, too ugly, too mean. Oorah." Groaning, she bent over and picked the bike up, wrapping her arms around the front fork. "Yeah, that's too awkward, I can't drag her home like that."

"Samantha!" She heard from the top of the hill, and shook her head. 

"Amy, go tell him I'm fine. Brothers, let's go get the truck." She shifted, waited for Nick and Randy to do the same, and the three trotted off into the woods toward the garage. They stopped at the sound of irritated barking, of another wolf following who didn't know how to slide through the brush and the brambles, tugging and scratching himself free of them as he ran toward the light brown wolf at the head of the trio, tackling her, his paws on her shoulders. 

"What the hell were you doing?" Oswald screamed at her as she shifted under him. "You could have died, you ignorant fool, what were you --"

"Trying to get gone and give you some damn space, give myself some space," she screamed back. "You're the damn fool, you're who ain't damn talked to me all week, you want to end things then end things and be a goddamn man about it, don't fuckin' toy --"

"End things? Who said anything about ending things? I love you, and you're running off to fucking die on a highway somewhere --"

"Get the fuck off of me," she growled. "Get the fuck off of me and quit goddamn lying to me before I lose my temper. I got things to do."

"Lying to you? About what? I have never lied to you, Samantha, never."

"You -- just get up off of me. I need to go collect my bike."

"No."

"Randall!" She screamed. "Get him off me before I lose my temper, I swear to God --"

"Nope. Y'all work out y'all's shit, it's driving us crazy," Randy said from over to the right of them. "We'll take care of Fantasy, Sissy. Don't you worry about it." 

"I will remember that," she snarled at her brother. "Seriously. Off of me. Now. I'm not in a good mood."

"If I get off of you, you'll run," he said, pressing down harder on her shoulders. "I know you. And you know I can't keep up. So no. I'm staying right here."

"I can get you off of me. I can do it without hurting you, even. I'm just trying to be nice. Last chance, Oswald. Get off of me."

"No," he said, gripping the lapels of her jacket. "I won't. You're not going anywhere."

"Damn it," she sighed. "I tried. You can't say I didn't try." And then she pushed herself up, so he was on her lap instead, before shifting again. But she couldn't run, because he had her fur tight between his fingers, yanking hard as she tried.

"You won't bite," he said as she snarled. "You won't. Turn back, Samantha, and don't run. You're right, I've been a bastard this week, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Tears wet her fur, and she stilled. "I'm so sorry, Samantha, and I'm just so goddamn scared, I hate it, I hate it so much, you don't know, you don't…"

The fur between his fingers turned back to leather, and a gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "No. I don't. 'Cause you wouldn't tell me. All you had to do was tell me why you was upset," she said. "Come on. Shift with me, I promise I won't run. I don't think we need to have this conversation sitting in the brush an' briars." She shifted, waited for him to do the same, and headed for the house. She could hear the truck already started, heard her brothers as they hooked up the trailer. Out of the woods and to the side porch, up the steps where she shifted back to two foot at the door. "You want to talk out here, or in my room?" she asked as he did the same.

"Your room," he replied. She nodded and led the way, and he stayed quiet until the door was closed behind them. She remained next to it, leaning on the wall, arms crossed over her chest.

"Now," she said. "Seriously, baby, you got to fuckin' talk to me. You ain't said much more than please, thank you, and good mornin' all week, no matter how I tried to make time or talk to you about anything. And I got…I got a little irritated a while ago about it. All I was doin', I promise, was takin' off for a little bit to try to clear my head."

"And you wrecked your bike at the gate. Which tells me you were going far too fast."

"I was goin' a little too fast," she admitted. "But the main thing was I was cryin'. Can't cry and ride. Can't. And I know better, I know better than that. It wasn't your fault, before you go blaming yourself. I knew better. I should have went for a run or somethin' instead. And better I laid her down where I did than yeah, out on the highway. That could have been bad. I can't die, but I can sure hell hurt."

"Samantha…" he began to pace, and she stayed where she was. "I can't. I just can't, I'd almost rather…it's not you, it's the whole thing, it's disgusting, it's horrible. I hate it. I hate it, and I don't…we haven't even had Beta yet because I've been trying to respect your boundaries, and I'm going to have to break mine…"

"Darlin'. You said somethin' different outside, and I think that was closer to the truth than this is. And I can't help if I don't know what I'm needin' to help with," she said. "Look, here's the thing; it ain't fair to me to punish me for somethin' I can't help. I told you, I've told you over and over again, I won't ask for this again. I won't put you through it, I promise, I can't help that we have to deal with it once, baby, please." She kicked her foot up against the wall, leaned her head back. "As for my boundaries, as for Beta sex, hell, any time. Do me a favor and try to keep the revulsion off y'face is all."

"Don't do that, you know I hate that," he said, and she sighed.

"Fine. My boundaries. Here you go, then." She straightened, stripped the flannel from her shoulders, her tee shirt, the thermal she wore under it, threw them on her bed, leaving her only in a green camisole. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, she pulled the camisole over her head, showing him the ruined mess that was her torso.

Scar tissue sprawled over her flat stomach, winding in all directions. He could see the indentations where the bullets had pierced her abdomen, covered though they were in neat surgical scars as well. Her right breast was half the size of her left, the surgical scars there neater, obviously the surgeons had tried to minimize the damage, but still, the flesh was darker, the lines from the stitches apparent. Her nipple was off center just by a bit, almost as if saved by only an afterthought.

Samantha's fists were clenched as tightly as her eyes were closed, and he could hear her grinding her teeth as he approached, her breathing quick and harsh, as if she were running or had been running for a long time. She gasped when he touched her stomach, fear and worry making her shoulders rise up to her neck, her ears, practically, and all but jumped away from him as he attempted to raise his hand to her right breast.

"No. I said you could look, I didn't say nothin' about touchin'," she said, opening her eyes and sidestepping around him to her bed, grabbing for her armor again. " 'Sides, that one's ruined. Ain't hardly -- shit. May as well just go get it cut the rest of the way off."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked as she turned her back again, pulled her tee back on.

"Ain't hardly no feelin'. Nerves are all jacked up." Her breath wouldn't settle, and her hands were shaking, shaking so fucking much, she raised the heel of her right palm to her eyes…and arms wrapped around her waist, a bony chin settled between her shoulderblades, long fingers intertwined around her stomach. A moment later, she felt his forehead settle where his chin had been.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you, Samantha."

"Yep." Her voice was rough still with unshed tears. 

"I mean it," he said. "Can you turn around yet?"

"No. I really can't." Her proud posture was slumped, her shoulders bowed in. "Not yet. I can't."

"Okay." He took a deep breath behind her, but didn't let go. "That's okay, too. I'm scared. I'm scared, Samantha, and it hurts to be so frightened, I haven't been frightened like this for -- ten years? Something like it."

"I won't hurt you, baby, I wouldn't, I won't never hurt you," she said, leaning forward, gathering her quilt in her fists and clenching them; she had to. 

"I'm not afraid of you, per se. I'm afraid…I've got to sit down, Samantha…"

"Come sit down, then," she said, and patted the bed beside her. "I'll move --"

"No. You won't," he said before letting go of her. "Stay. Stay right where you are, I'm not afraid of you," he said, stressing the last word. "I've never been afraid of you, Samantha, and I'm not now." 

"You want some tea or somethin'? Some water?" she asked. She needed a minute, just a minute, but he wouldn't let go of her arm, even as he moved to sit down on her bed.

"No. No, Samantha. I'm fine, and you don't get to run now. You don't get to hide," he said, even though she was trying, trying so hard to hide, her face still turned away. 

"Wasn't gonna run," she mumbled. "Just tryin' to take care of you."

"I'm fine. You're the one who had a fucking wreck half an hour ago, I'm worried about you, come sit down with me," he tried, but she shook her head, keeping her face turned away. 

"I'm good, baby. I'm fine." She took a deep, deep breath, finally raised her head to look at him. Her brown eyes were rimmed with red, but she tried, she tried to give him a weak, weak smile.

"I don't believe you," he said, matter of fact. "I know you're hurting. I'm sorry, I'm so very sorry for hurting you, Samantha, I didn't mean to. I didn't. I just…when I'm afraid, or when I'm hurting, I get very cold."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed. I accept your apology, baby." But the hurt was still there in her eyes, and it wounded him to know it was his fault that it was there. 

"It's not that bad," he said after a moment. "Your scars. They're really not." That earned him a dry, harsh laugh.

"Baby, you ain't got to lie. Don't fuckin' lie, that pisses me off."

"I'm not. A good plastic surgeon could take care of you. Would. It would take some money, that's all. That's all, and Samantha, Samantha, listen to me, listen, please, that's only if you want it taken care of. That's only if you don't -- if -- I don't care, I don't, I'd -- what I did with your shoulders, I'll do that with your breast, with your stomach, every night for the rest of your life if you want, Samantha, because it doesn't matter, it doesn't," he pleaded, clutching at her forearm.

"I appreciate that," she said, and stood up. "That's right kind of you." Something was wrong in her voice, in her eyes, the hurt was still there, but she was…

"Stop. Stop, please stop, I can see you pulling away, Samantha, and I can't do this if you do, I can't, I can't," he implored her. "I swear to -- swear to God and your mountain, I can't."

"Don't swear by the mountain if it ain't a true thing," she said. "Call down shit on your head you can't handle. Mountain's alive in its own way, Granddaddy always said. Listens when you call on it. And baby, it gets pissy if you lie."

"Good, because maybe you'll believe me when I say this. I can't do this without you, Samantha. I cannot, cannot do this, I cannot go through with this, without you. I need you."

"Yep. I'm real well aware." Her arms crossed over her chest, and he closed his eyes. Standing right in front of him, and he was losing her. 

"You're more important to me than anything and anyone in this world, Samantha," he said after a moment. "And I'm sorry. I'm so very, very sorry, for…for being more Penguin than Oswald this week."

"That what you're like back home?" she asked, softening a little. "That sharp and cold?"

"And drawn into myself. Yes. For business," he tried to excuse himself, and as she cocked her head, looking down, he took a deep breath. "Okay. A lot of the time. Yes. I'm…I'm not…I'm not used to this, to having…having people who care, really care, who don't have ulterior motives, who aren't always looking to see their best interests taken care of through me."

"I know. PackBond. First thing we felt once it set, sweet Christ on his cross, Oswald. How the hell are you sane?" His sharp laughter cut through her.

"I'm not sure I am, not entirely," he said. "Functional, and functional to society, even being what I am, I don't kill people on the street for no reason, I only hurt or kill when it's…profitable. But I can…I'm not a…a psychopath. I can love. I have loved. And I do love." He took a deep, a very deep breath, and painfully, grimacing, slipped to his knees on the floor in front of her, digging in his pocket for the box that had been with him from the moment he'd taken it from its dark hiding place in the safe. "I love you, Samantha. I know I messed up this week. I know I did. I'll…I'll work on it, I'll try, please, but I love you, I need you. More than breath, more than Gotham, more than…more than anything." He flipped open the box. "Marry me."

Her face went white under the tan, her mouth dropping open, her eyes wide as her hand rose to her heart. "You -- this ain't -- don't play. Don't be playin' right now. Don't. 'Cause I swear --"

"I'm not. I'll…Mother. I swear, this is Mother's ring, on Mother's soul, Samantha. I love you. I need you. Please." He was crying now, and her own eyes were overflowing, tears falling unheeded, as she looked down at him. 

"Jesus God," she whispered. "You're serious. You're actually serious."

"I am, I promise I am, I wasn't going to ask for months and months yet. But you need to know. You need to know how serious I am. How much I love you. I do, Samantha. I love you." With trembling fingers, he plucked the worn golden ring with its tiny diamond chip from the box. "It's small. I don't know that it'll fit, I don't think it will, Mother had small hands…"

"Get up, please, before you hurt yourself, please, baby," she said, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. "Please get up."

"Not until you answer me," he said, that stubborn tone running into his voice now, and she smiled through her tears.

"I love you too, Oswald, and I'll be right honored to be your wife. Now you can get up, or I can pick you up, and we still got a lot to talk about yet."

"Give me your hand," he said, and took her left hand before she could wipe it off. "Let me try." Nodding, still crying, she spread her fingers. The ring only went up to her first knuckle. Samantha had large fingers.

"I'm sorry," she started to say, but instead of arguing with her, he moved to her pinky; here it was too tight, too.

"Don't. I'll buy you another. Do you have a chain?"

"A -- like a necklace? I got my dog tags yet, but that ain't right, I ain't gonna do that. Get up, get up for the love of God, let me get Amy Beth, Amy'll have somethin'." She reached down, and this time he let her help him up, she all but body blocked him onto her bed before going to the door and jerking it open, shouting for Amy.

A few minutes later, the sisters came in, Samantha still crying, Amy starting to, with a cheap jewelry box in her hands. "Let me see, let me see," she squealed, and sucked in her breath when he held out the ring. "Oh, SAM!"

"I know, I know, but it's too small for my big ass --"

"Samantha," he said, and she stopped.

"Too small for my fingers, we done tried the pinky and that ain't workin', neither." 

"Give me a minute. Gold, right?" Amy began rummaging through her jewelry box, muttering to herself. "She said you said you'd buy her one for her own, but --"

"But I'm gonna wear both," Samantha said as she drew out her top dresser drawer, took out a small wooden box of her own and opened it. "And I ain't wearin' y'mama's ring on my dog tags. Can't. 'Cause --" Amy's head popped up.

"You're not," the younger sister said, "you are? Sam? Are you sure? Are you dead set sure?"

"Sure as sure can be," Samantha said as she pulled her dog tags from the box. "Reckon I better be, since I done said yes."

"Found it," Amy said as she pulled up a gold chain at last. It was braided, at least eighteen inches long, and she handed it to Oswald. "It's the best chain I have. I know it's not great, but…"

"It's lovely, Amy," he said, handling it. "Fourteen karat?"

"I think? I know it cost over a hundred dollars? It was pretty, and I liked it," she shrugged. 

"Fourteen. Like the ring. It's lovely, and will go well until we go to town tomorrow and get her one of her own. Come here, Samantha." Carefully, he threaded the ring onto the chain, waited for her to come to him. When she did, he twirled his finger. "Turn around, so I can put this on you." She knelt, one hand going up to the back of her neck to lift up the hair that was just brushing the collar of her shirt, and he dropped a quick kiss to the back of her neck before fastening the clasp, taking her hand when he had and kissing the palm.

"We still got a lot to talk about," she said as she reached down and looked at the diamond ring on the chain around her neck. "But. I got somethin' for you, too, if you don't mind. You ain't got to wear it if'n you don't wanna. It ain't pretty, it ain't -- some folks look at it different than we do," she said, dangling her dog tags on their chain in front of him when she turned around. "But they mean somethin' to me. To lots of service. To give someone their tags."

"Means a lot," Amy said from the doorway. "A lot."

"I'll be honored, Samantha. Honestly," he said, and with a grin, she slipped the chain over his head, let him look at them. 

"I love you," she said quietly. "And we still have a lot to talk about. But I reckon that can wait until tomorrow, baby."

"No. No, you're right, I --" he looked at the open door, and she took half a step back, one hand on her hip.

"Tomorrow," she said. "We'll go to town. Go for a drive. And we'll talk. Real seriously."

"You're sure?"

"Yep. But hey. Ain't no more of that bull, darlin'. You want to freeze out the rest of the fuckin' world, you do that. You do what you feel like you need to do. But I'm your Alpha. And I'm your Pack. And I'm gonna be your wife. You don't freeze me out. You need time to get your thoughts together, fine and well, tell me so. But you don't freeze me out."

"Then you don't run," he said in return, just as seriously, just as intent and intensely. "You don't run from me anymore. I'm going to be your husband. I'm your Omega, I'm your Pack. You don't run."

"Deal," she said, and leaned in to kiss him to seal it.


End file.
